Believing in Henry
by Shopowner93
Summary: Post -curse story starting from "Apple Red as Blood" before the new season. Charming Family.
1. Believing in Henry

AU. My first fan fiction. Picks up from the end of season 1 and is my prediction of what will happen.

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**Believing in Henry**

"You may not believe in the curse or in me," he said. Emma wanted to cry again. How could her son think she didn't believe in him? It was for him that she had come to Maine, for him that she'd fought Regina, and for him that she was leaving. "But I believe in you."

With his small face set in hard determination, Henry took a big bite out of the center of the turnover. He kept his dark brown eyes set on her face while he chewed the warm apple and crust. Emma smiled through her blood-red eyes. Maybe this would be good. _Get him to the truth without hurting him_, Mary Margaret had once said. As he swallowed the warm pastry, Emma hoped he would finally see. There was no curse. His mother, however horrible, was no evil queen. Regina was not trying to poison anyone, and Emma was not the savior.

"See," she said as she watched him. "You want to have some ice cream with that, and then we can go back to talking about-"

Henry dropped to the floor with a sharp thud.

"Henry?" she said_. How far was he really going to take this curse thing_, she thought. But, he didn't answer. The turnover lay in the grasp of his outstretched arm.

_This is not the time_. "Henry," she said a louder. Suddenly her heart threw itself against her chest. Still he lay on the carpet. He didn't smile, didn't twitch; he didn't move.

"Henry!" Emma cried. Her mind was reeling. What if he wasn't faking? What if this wasn't another Operation Cobra ploy?

Emma dove to the floor and grabbed his small body. "HENRY!" she screamed shaking him forcibly, demanding that he open his eyes, stop toying with her. His mouth opened slightly but his eyes stayed closed as if he were sleeping. Emma's violent shaking forced the turnover to the floor and finally she looked at it: a small triangle of crust with the tiny curves of Henry's teeth. And she saw Regina's face, smiling at her, willing her to take the pastry.

And suddenly Emma was on her feet, sprinting to the worn wood cabinets, slapping everything aside and throwing bottles to the floor as she reached for the plastic sandwich bags. She ripped one out, sending the box flying across the kitchen. She stuffed the apple turnover into the plastic and crawled over to Henry's head.

"Henry, can you hear me?"

She brushed his brown bangs away from his face and stuck two finger near the base of his neck, searching for his pulse. There wasn't one. _No, wait. _There was a small jump in the nerve under her fingers. Emma brought her ear to her son's mouth, but the air was still and cold. _Wait_, she told herself. She waited an agonizing four seconds and then was on her feet, lunging for the car keys on the dinner table. She stuffed them and the apple turnover into her tight shallow pockets and stooped to the floor. Emma clawed onto her son's limp body and heaved him into the air- book bag and all-and threw her arms around his legs, pressing him hard into her body.

She was at the door in two steps, not bothering to close it behind her, and flew into the hallway, crashing into someone in front of her.

"Emma!" yelped Mary Margaret stumbling backward. Emma ignored her and ran down the stairs, feeling Henry's heavy head bouncing on her shoulder.

"Emma, what's wrong!"

Emma was painfully aware of Henry's small hands flopping against her arms as she rushed him into the cold and to the yellow bug parked by the sidewalk. She yanked open the passenger door and stuffed him into the seat.

"Emma?" said Mary Margaret running through the door, but Emma didn't hear her. She slammed the yellow door shut, running and awkwardly pulling her keys out of her pockets. Finally behind the wheel, Emma turned the key barely waiting for the engine to sputter awake, before slamming the gas pedal to the floor and peeling away from the curb and a confused Mary Margaret.

The streets were almost empty as everyone was just arriving home from work and the street lights seemed to bend at Emma's will. She floored it down the road, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on Henry's drooped head.

"Henry, can you hear me!" she yelled again. She shook his little shoulders again, eyes flitting between the road in front of her and the dying boy in her car. How had she never noticed just how small he was before?

"Henry, please," she begged. When had she started crying again? "Please, Henry, open your eyes."

She whipped the wheel, taking a turn at a skid and finally saw the stark, white hospital edifice in the near horizon. She sped into the emergency drive, bringing the car a stop with a jolt. She realized her mistake when her son's body worked against the sudden disappearance of momentum and his face smashed against the dash board. Why didn't she seatbelt him, damnit!

"No, no no," she cried running around the car to his door. She pulled him out, tossing him over her shoulder and running into the emergency room.

"HELP ME!" she screamed above the din in the room. Seeing the child in her arms a nurse ran and grabbed a gurney. Two other nurses joined her and pulled Henry out of Emma's arms, but she refused to let him go.

"Henry, can you hear me?" They pushed him down the hall and were shortly joined by Dr. Whale. "C'mon Henry, wake up, please!" she pleaded.

Dr. Whale pulled the gurney into a room.

"C'mon, c'mon Henry you can do it," she encouraged. A nurse grabbed her arm trying to direct her out of the room. Emma used her entire body to yank it away.

"NO! I am not going anywhere," she snarled when the nurse tried to argue.

Dr. Whale clicked a little light on and tugged on Henry's eyelids. Emma stared into her son's eyes, but they weren't his. They were dark, hollow, and empty as if Henry wasn't there at all.

"What happened?" asked Dr. Whale.

Emma snatched the bag out of her pocket and showed him. "He ate this. It's poison."

The doctor forcibly opened Henry's mouth. "His airways are clear. Any convulsing or disorientation-"

"He took a bite of this and then he just collapsed," Emma yelled over him, shoving the turnover in his face. "So run the test for arsenic, or bleach, or Drain-O or whatever could have done this to him!"

Dr. Whale shook his head and grabbed at the bag insisting there were no signs of poison and probing Emma for more information.

"I already told you everything," she cried. "Do something!"

She stomped over to Henry's backpack and ripped it open, dumping its contents onto the bed while Dr. Whale told her he couldn't find anything wrong. "It's like…"

Emma scanned the items on the bed spotting the chocolate bar, comic book, and…"like magic," she said staring at the leather-bound storybook.

Could this be the answer? Hadn't Snow White died biting into a poisoned apple? And hadn't that apple come from the hated Evil Queen? And if Regina was the Queen…Emma snatched out and grabbed the book. A jolt, like a strong pulse of electricity rocketed through her body. She barely got out a gasp before the images played themselves in the mind, flying past like a movie in fast forward.

Mary Margaret, flushed face and tear stained. David standing over her, crying himself. No, it wasn't them. Snow White thrusting a child wrapped in beige and purple embroidered wool-Emma's blanket-into Prince Charming's arms, telling him to go. _Goodbye Emma. _Prince Charming dashing out. Swords and silver flashing, chinks and grunts, and the slashing blades making contact. A tree, a wardrobe. _Find us._

Emma choked on her breathe and stumbled back, crashing into the glass wall. She gripped the book tightly to her chest.

"Emma?" Dr. Whale called. He started forward as if to check on her when he was called back.

He turned his attention from Emma and rushed over to the nurses as they stuck needles and masks and sensors onto Henry.

"We're loosing him!" he announced. The nurses started ordering each other around, passing wires and tubes over the small body, clicking buttons on machines.

Emma stumbled to the bed. "No, no, no, no, no! Henry! Please, please wake up!"

As suddenly as they had swarmed Henry's still body, Dr. Whale and the nurses stepped back. They all stared at the machines for a moment, eyes pinched, analyzing the lines running across the screen.

"Why isn't waking up?" Emma choked.

Dr. Whale sighed and bit his front lip nervously. "He's stable," he said slowly, "but he's slipped into a coma."

"Well, what does that mean? Wake him up!" Emma demanded.

"We can't wake him up. He has to wake up on his own; the best we can do is to keep him stabilized."

"When's that going to happen?" she said. "When will he wake up?"

Dr. Whale shook his head, "I don't know. All comas are different. It could only be a couple minutes, hours, or like David Nolan…years."

Emma's mouth fell open and she looked at her son's face: pale, frozen, a horrifying version of her sleeping Henry. Her bottom lip trembled and she tried to wrap her arms around herself. She realized then that she was holding the book, and on the table beside his bed lay the turnover, disfigured in its plastic bag.

"Henry, I'm so sorry," she whispered, running over and grabbing his loose hand. "I should have listened to you. I should have believed you."

She stared at every inch of her son. A couple of minutes ago he was wrapped in her arms, pleading with her to stay. Then he was yelling at her because she was the savior, she _had_ to stay. It was all a trick. And now he was here, laying on a hospital bed, tubes sticking out of his white arms and a mask pushed over his face. Now he was in a coma. In a coma that he may wake up from in a day or like David, years later. _Like David_. The phrase repeated itself in Emma's ear. _David. _David, who was in a coma for years- years lying in a hospital with no one knowing who he was until Mary Margaret read to him. Mary Margaret who was Snow White. Snow White who woke him up. _Woke him up!_

"I'm going to fix this," she told her son. Emma tucked the book under her arm and sprinted from the room. She jumped into her bug, which was still running with both doors open in the Emergency Lane. Emma pulled out onto the street and sped as she had earlier, but in the opposite direction. She skid to a stop outside of the apartment and took the stairs two at a time.

"Mary Margaret!" Emma called as she burst through the door.

Emma found her roommate on the floor of the kitchen sweeping up a brown powder which had evidently exploded when Emma ransacked the cabinets earlier.

"Emma!" she breathed, standing up and wiping her hands on her skirt.

Emma ran over to her and grabbed Mary Margaret's arm. "C'mon," she said pulling her roommate out of the door and down the stairs.

"What's happened?" asked Mary Margaret. They made it to the car. Emma finally let go and ran to the driver's side.

"Get in the car!" she ordered.

Mary Margaret's eyes widened, but she listened and slid into her seat. Emma tore off again and shoved the heavy book into Mary Margaret's lap.

"You have to read to him," she said.

Mary Margaret trained her green eyes on Emma. "What?"

"You have to read to him."

"Read to who, Emma?"

"To Henry."

"Henry?" Mary Margaret shook her head. "I don't understand."

"He's in a coma," Emma explained, running a light as it turned red. "He ate an apple-an apple turnover-one of Regina's and he collapsed and he's in a coma and it's all my fault!"

"Emma." She could see the shock, disbelief, and worry playing on her roommate's soft features. She hadn't changed. The short hair did nothing, she was still the same woman Emma had seen when she's picked up the book.

"You woke David up. You have to do it again," Emma pleaded. She did not care how irrational she sounded.

She heard Mary Margaret breathe in. "But, Emma-"

Emma took her eyes completely off of the black pavement before her and turned to Mary Margaret. "You HAVE to! I know you can do it again! I cannot loose him!"

Mary Margaret looked into Emma's panicked eyes and felt her head nodding. "Okay," she said.

Emma drove Mary Margaret to the hospital doors, but didn't get out of the car.

"Aren't you coming?" Mary Margaret said from outside the car, clutching the book.

"I'll be right there," said Emma. She had to have another plan, because in her heart she knew having Mary Margaret would not be enough. "There's someone I have to see."


	2. An Ending

**Chapter 2: An Ending**

Mary Margaret flinched as Emma suddenly peeled her battered bug from the sidewalk and sped away from the hospital. The yellow beetle shrunk into the distance quickly, and she was left standing there, alone and confused. But even worse than confused, Mary Margaret was terrified. She knew she had been coming home late, but-being determined to keep the sheriff's office from Regina's control no matter how long it took- it had still been much too early for Emma to be in the apartment. She'd been surprised when her roommate had crashed into her, but she had been shocked to see what she was carrying. Or whom.

It felt like hours that she had spent on her knees sweeping up brown sugar with her little hand brush. She should have jumped back into her car. She should have sped along behind Emma. But if she was being honest with herself, just the sight of a limp Henry in Emma's arms was enough to set Mary Margaret's body shaking. She had needed it-to clean, to methodically slide the tiny brush across the floor until her roommate returned to explain. And in that time, she had imagined that when she did walk through the door Emma would say everything was fine. Maybe Henry had fallen asleep and Emma needed to get him to Regina's before a certain time. Maybe Henry would walk back in with his mother, a small bandage on his head from a fall. Maybe Emma had overreacted.

She couldn't have been more wrong. _Coma. _She had barely heard anything Emma had yelled at her, let alone understood it. But she had heard "coma" and the simple word had evoked more emotion from her than she'd felt in a long time. All the pain and frustration and embarrassment David had cause her after his coma came rushing back. She felt the sadness that she'd had everyday as she passed a man year after year with no family coming to visit him. But the word had nothing to do with David this time. Henry. Emma had said it was Henry.

Still standing, shivering under the hospital breezeway, Mary Margaret peeled the heavy tome from her body. "Read to him," Emma had said. It didn't make any sense. What did Emma really think she would be able to do? A story was not a magical cure for a coma. If Henry was in a coma, there was no guarantee that he would even be able to hear her. But still, he did need someone and as Emma's determined face had indicated just before she pulled away, it looked like she would be gone for a while.

Taking in one last deep, breath, Mary Margaret steeled herself and marched through the familiar sliding doors, the whir sending a shiver up her spine, and proceeded to the front desk.

"Um," she hesitated. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I need to see Henry Mills."

Cella, a kind woman who had always greeted Mary Margaret on her way in to volunteer, gave her a sympathetic smile.

"He's in room 135," she said nodding.

Mary Margaret thanked her and rushed to the double doors. As they swung open she was met by the stern faces of nurses- disappointed, sad nurses. Ignoring them, she made the right, already knowledgeable of the hospital's layout. Room 135 was close, and as the door numbers increased so did her speed.

Her heart sank as she realized which was room 135. _David's room_. Mary Margaret entered quickly and rushed to the bed. She had barely approached it when she gasped. Seeing a grown man alone, sprouting tubes, and comatose in a bed was depressing and heartbreaking. Seeing this child-a small frame that hardly took up half the bed, painful looking needles protruding from every surface of his blue skin, and a breathing mask that looked like it was sucking the life out of him- caused her heart to shrivel in her very chest. Mary Margaret covered her eyes with a hand, squeezing the tears from the corners. Bottom lip quivering, she walked around the bed and settled herself down on the mattress. A machine before her beeped and she looked up. She watched the thin line crawl across the inky black screen and jump with the beat of Henry's heart. She was no expert, but she was sure it wasn't jumping fast enough.

"I'm so sorry, Henry," she whispered. She took her free hand and brushed it along his forehead, trailing the soft line of his bangs. What a sweet boy. Even lying here, his life in danger, somehow he brought her comfort.

She never understood why she'd grown so attached to this particular child. She had taught many children at her time at the school. But only this one, the brown-eyed boy with the soft voice, had ever truly caught her attention. He had made her feel special, _needed_. That was why she had given him the book. He was lonely, and friendless, and devoid of any hope, yes, but Henry Mills had made her feel like she was destined to help him. It was like her job depended on the happiness of this little boy, because he _was_ her; he was just like her. And when she finally saw a smile from him one day in class, it had brought her a pure joy she hadn't felt in… well, she couldn't remember.

Mary Margaret fingered the thick pages of the book. The last time she had read from it she was in this exact room, telling David the story of Snow White and Prince Charming's blossoming love. With her nail, she selected a page randomly and stared at the picture. Interestingly, it was a picture of Snow White and Prince Charming. He was pressed against her in their iconic kiss. Tilting her head to one side and laying a hand on one of Henry's cooling hands, she started at the top of the page and read...

"When Prince Charming saw his beloved Snow White in her glass coffin, he knew all that was left was to say goodbye," she said as she reached the end. "He had to give her one last kiss; and when he did, true love proved more powerful than any curse. A pulse of pure love shuttered out and engulfed the land, waking up Snow White and bringing light to the darkness."

Mary Margaret sighed. The last time she had read, she had quite enjoyed it. It was nice to read a story and not be interrupted by fourth graders asking questions between each sentence. David had just listened, something she found it difficult to make people do. But this, this story just made her heart pulse with more ache. It was almost too much to handle. All she ever wanted to do was help people and here was this boy who had proven one of her biggest challenges, who had gotten into her heart, and all she could do was sit here and _read_ to him. Mary Margaret slammed the book shut and looked down into Henry's face. She took his hand again and clutched it tighter.

"Henry, when I gave you this book it was because I knew…" she breathed. She could already feel the tears welling behind her eyes. "I know life doesn't always have a happy ending. But I thought-"

A machine was wailing. More than one, they all were. Collectively the machines around Henry's bed started screaming, as if Henry himself were begging for help.

"Wha-" Mary Margaret jumped up from the bed. "DOCTOR WHALE!"

Nurses came bursting through the glass door, swarming her and the bed. "What is- what is that?" she asked the room at large. Dr. Whale suddenly brushed past her, knocking her into the arms of a taller woman.

"What is that!" she begged, long forgotten tears streaming down her pink-stained cheeks.

She heard Dr. Whale yell and suddenly she was being yanked away, machine sirens still going off alarming the entire floor that there was a crisis. Even through the lucid glass walls she could barely see anything. She saw a wall of white coats, white gloved hands flying, white sneakers running across a white floor. Mary Margaret soon found herself plastered to the glass desperate for a glimpse of a machine, a limb, even a string of chocolate-brown hair to sate her nerves a bit. Instead,she got a view of little Henry's chest before Dr. Whale slammed two heavy steel paddles down and pressed a button.

Mary Margaret screamed as Henry's whole body jerked up with the current of electricity and flailed back down into the mattress. She could practically feel the pain he was in. They did it again and she had to bite her knuckles to keep from crying out again. Again, and now she found herself sobbing. Again; and her palm was on the glass, banging and yelling at them to stop. Even though it was probably helping, even if it could save him, she wanted them to stop the pain. Henry didn't deserve anymore pain. He deserved hugs and kisses and hands to ruffle his hair playfully. But there they were, banging on an innocent child's chest.

A pair of hands grabbed her from behind and she was dragged, yet again, to a waiting room where she couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything. She sat there for days. It must have been; minutes didn't just stop and take your breath away. It couldn't take mere minutes for a heart to shatter. Finally, the set of double doors opened. Nurses filed out, removing gloves, patting each other on the back, stealing furtive glances her way. Dr. Whale trailed slowly behind.

His bright blue eyes scanned the room quickly. When they fell on the schoolteacher he bit his lip. Mary Margaret stood and hurried over to him, but he just shook his head.

"We did everything we could," he muttered breaking his eye contact with her.

She couldn't breathe. With no heart left to crush, the words he had just spoken instead found her lungs and pulverized them. What did he mean? Was it over, a life ended before it was even begun? Did that mean that all of the bodily torture they had inflicted was for nothing?

"If you'll excuse me, I have a few calls to make," said Dr. Whale hurriedly sliding passed her, but Mary Margaret didn't hear him.

How could a world be so cruel? She had committed adultery, she had stolen another woman's husband and the worse that had happened to her was being thrown in jail. What had Henry done? He had found his mother, given Mary Margaret a friend, and helped bring a coma patient to life. And what did he get for his trouble? He died; alone, without either of his mothers or friends or teachers by his side.

Mary Margaret felt disgusted. How could she ever go back to teaching? She would not be able to enter back into her classroom and skip over the name Henry Mills or ignore the one empty seat in the back. Because Henry Mills would not be absent. He would not be sick. Henry Mills would be dead.


	3. Nightmares and Filling

Nightmares and Filling:

He was chewing, the turnover's thick filling sloshed around in his mouth. He had to hand it to the Queen, it was delicious. Had Emma bitten into it she would have never known, never suspected anything. As it was, she was standing right in front of him. A small smile forming on her lips. And in that instant, Henry realized that she had never truly believed him. His own mother, his real mother, had never actually trusted him. But now she would see. Now he could prove that everything he had told her- the book, her parents, the curse, her fate- it was all true.

"See," she was saying. She sounded exasperated, tired of him and all his antics,"you want some ice cream and maybe we can talk about this-"

Henry didn't hear her finish. He was falling, fast and far. The light in his eyes shrank and his body hit the floor sending a painful shock through his arm and side. For a second he panicked. What if this was stupid? What if he had just killed himself? Months Emma had been here, for months he had been telling her the same story, like a mantra. She had never believed. Why, all of a sudden, did he think that this one stunt would force her to see the truth? No, he was wrong. Emma would never believe. After this she would probably leave Storybrooke, and he would be dead. Suicide by stupidity. The last thing he saw was his mother's face. The smile swiped right off and her bloodshot eyes wide and round.

_Henry was so excited he felt like a little puppy, seconds away from peeing on himself. Now that would be an awful first impression. He was mere inches from the door. A large, yellow-chipped slab of wood with orante cursive scribbled across it. He tried to make out the words but it was faded, and he had only just begun learning cursive with Miss Blanchard. Maybe his mother had done this. He touched the door lightly, teeth biting into his bottom lip. Maybe she was creative and liked anything pretty and unique. Then she would be like him, or rather, he would be like her._

_He did one last check, patting himself and his bookbag making sure the book was still there and Miss Blanchard's card was still in his pocket, before running his fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut but his mother hadn't taken him in months. He felt a moment of frustration when he thought about what this woman would say. Would she hate kids with long hair? Henry shook the thought out of his head and pressed down on the doorbell, fast before he lost his nerve. He could hear the ringing echo through the apartment beyond and all of a sudden he was smiling broadly. This was it!_

_The heavy door swung open and there before him was a tall, slender woman, dressed in a tight pink dress with her blonde ringlets falling down her back. She had a hard face. She looked straight ahead at first, but when she looked down he saw confusion in her deep green eyes._

_"Are you Emma Swan?" he asked barely containing himself. She was beautiful._

_"Yeah," she said. "Who are you?"_

_Henry was bouncing, literally. "My name is Henry. I'm your son."_

_Her face melted and she stared at him through shocked eyes. He smiled and, wanting to make her comfortable, he let himself into the apartment. It was neat, clean. No toys, that meant no brothers or sisters, which was great. He wanted her all to himself. He also didn't see anyone else, which probably meant no husband, which was a little disappointing, but he could find out later for sure. She was calling him. Henry turned around. Kid, she said. She didn't have a son._

_"Ten years ago," he probed, finding a seat at the counter, "did you give up a baby for adoption? That was me."_

_He watched her mouth fall open and she slowly crossed her arms as if shying away from him. Henry mentally reminded himself that he had to make her comfortable. He wanted her to like him._

_"What are you doing here?" she said._

_"What?" Henry looked up from his chair. Her hard face had returned and she was edging closer to him. She recovered quickly from her shock and let her arms drop._

_"Where's your family? You're supposed to be with them."_

_"No," he said. He was confused. He hadn't expected this at all. "I came to take you back with me. I came to find you."_

_"And who asked you to do that?" Suddenly her eyes were darker. The green turned almost black._

_"You're my mom," he explained. "I-"_

_"No," she said. "I am not your mother. You have a mother."_

_She had given him up for a reason, she said. She didn't want him. He didn't belong with her. She had her own life and she didn't need some kid ruining it for her. Emma approached him slowly. And if she did want a child. It wouldn't have been Henry. She wanted someone like his father, the love of her life. He was nothing like his father. She could already see it; he wasn't brave or truthful or nice or kind. He was a brat. Unloveable and useless to her. _

_He hadn't even realized he was crying. Hours on a bus, by himself and in a big city, all for his mother to tell him she didn't love him and she never would. He was just a throw away, a mistake. No one would love him, no one could._

_He wished he had never come. He should never have even bothered. All he did was confirm his worse nightmare, that he was unworthy._

"Henry!" whispered a voice. Henry turned in his chair. It hadn't been Emma Swan. She was on the phone calling the police to return him to his miserable life, to his other mother. But it had almost sounded like Emma.

"Henry can you hear me?"

Yes, he could. And now he realized that whoever it was, she was yelling, but she must have been far away. Who would be looking for him? No one ever looked for him.

"Come on Henry, wake up!" she demanded. Was she crying? He didn't want anyone to cry, he didn't want anyone else to feel like he was feeling. Crushed and alone. So, he decided to do what she said.

_And he woke up._

_It was Christmas morning and the snow was already falling outside his bedroom window. It wasn't yet light out but with his nightlights he could see the streets of Storybrooke were quiet and littered with bright white flakes. He jumped out of bed, throwing the thick sheets to the floor and ran to the window. He couldn't see very far, but it didn't look like the clock tower had moved. Of course not. Henry peeked at his nightstand and looked at his alarm clock. 8:15, it said. He swiveled his head and looked at the three on the heavy bookcase. 8:15. Even his little arm watch said 8:15. So not even Christmas could bring on a change._

_No matter what time it was, the sun wasn't up so that meant his mother would not be either. Henry quietly padded through his bedroom and poked his head out of the door. Down the hall, his mother's door was closed shut. He sneaked out of the bedroom and quickly made his way down the carpeted stairs. Just passed the foyer and in the living room was their tree. A perfect vision of what a Christmas tree should look like, or at least it was according to his mother's catalogues._

_It was tall and greener than new grass, freshly cut, and perfectly erect. The entire house pulsed with the scent of pine and the outdoors. Bright, silver tinsel had been draped around the tree in perfect horizontal lines and in between dangled giant blood-red baubles, the size of apples. Tucked into the core of the magnificent tree was a cord of white lights that shone through the finger-like pine needles. Under all of this were the presents. Wrapped in metallic silver and red paper, each topped with the opposite colored bow. All together it was gorgeous, but it meant nothing to Henry._

_He had never once gotten to go out to chop down a tree, or even pick one, like the kids at school talked about. He hated the tinsel that got all over the place and the white lights paled in comparison to the multi-colored, flashing trees he sometimes got a peek at through his neighbors' windows. He wanted to help decorate but his mother had never even let him pick up an ornament. Instead she hired decorators. They came in one day with the tree, the wreaths, and the lights and in less than two hours the house was Christmas ready. The closest Henry ever got to being involved was the one year he brought a broom to one of the men who had dropped a glass ball. _

_Not even the presents were special. Each was delicately wrapped and noted to him with perfect penmanship; but it wasn't his mothers. She hired people to do that too. She never hid his presents, never surprised him on Christmas morning. And she never got up before nine._

_With plenty of time before the day started, Henry dropped down to his hands and knees and crawled around the tree. He found large boxes, and oddly wrapped presents, but he found no envelope as he had hoped. Giving up the idea that it might be in an envelope he picked one of the presents- a small box- and peeled away the wrapping, careful not to damage the tape. As long as he could somewhat put it back together, she would never know. The paper came away easily and he was left holding a small cube, the size of his hand, decorated with multicolored squares. He recognized it. A Rubik cube. Everyone in school had been talking about it, everyone wanted one, and he had seen plenty of commercials for them. Henry sighed, sliding the silver paper back into place. He glanced at the boxes under the tree. All addressed to him, each larger than the last. It only meant one thing: each of his presents would be bigger and better than anyone else's in his class._

_Speaking of his class…Henry's head darted up as he searched the back of the tree, looking past the balls and fake snow. Perhaps she had placed it right on the front. He scrambled to his feet and roamed around the large tree. Nothing. He circled twice more before finally accepting that it just wasn't there. The last time he had it he had placed it on the kitchen counter._

_Henry entered their large kitchen and swept his eyes across the immaculate surfaces. The granite was smooth and uninterrupted by anything out of place. As his eyes squinted and searched, his focus landed on the trash can. A stainless steel, self-lifting can almost as tall as he was. Henry hated to think it. She would never do that. She could have just forgotten to put it up. That was like her; she often forgot things. But what if it was in there. _

_Licking his dry lips, Henry approached the can and pushed down on the button that lifted the lid. He saw paper, a broken fork, leftover rice that neither of them was going to eat, and the integument from the banana he had before bed. Sticking his hand in, he pushed aside the top layer and felt his heart drop. _

_There it was._

_Henry eyed the little beaded wreath he had made in class. All of the second graders had spent two days making little ornaments for their Christmas trees and homes. Many of those in his class managed to come away with five or six, but Henry only made this one. He wanted it to be special. He wanted this one to be perfect enough for his mother to put on the tree. Clearly, it wasn't._

_Bottom lip trembling, Henry made his way back up the stairs, not even worried about washing his hands or making too much noise. He found his bedroom door and slammed it shut. She hadn't hung it up. She couldn't even do that, which meant he definitely hadn't gotten the tickets he had wanted. Every year the high school put on a play between Christmas and New Years, a small opportunity for everyone to get together during the holidays. The tickets sold for five dollars each and it was the only thing Henry had asked for. He hadn't wanted a Rubik cube or a camera or a video game. He wanted to spend one day with his mother, doing something fun. But asking for her time was too much._

_Henry threw himself down on the bed and yanked the covers back over himself. He tried to convince himself that she had just brushed it into the can while cleaning the counter, and honestly that was probably it, but it did not make him feel better. Maybe this year he would make her wait. He would stay in bed all day and not talk to her. When she went out for her weekend meeting, he would not even say goodbye. He wished he hadn't even wasted all his time, all his energy on that stupid project. He wished he hadn't actually believed that this year his mother would listen to him and make Christmas special. He wished-_

"I should have listened to you," the voice said. She was much quieter this time. "I should have believed you."

Believed who? Him? Believed what? Who was this woman who kept speaking to him, breaking him out of his realities? Henry listened harder, wondering if she was still talking. It didn't sound like she was crying anymore, which was good. But she didn't sound okay either. Henry wondered where he was. He wanted to help her. He needed to help her; something was obviously wrong with her. But what was it?

"I'm going to fix this," she told him.

"_I think I can fix it," he was saying. A heavy stream of tears were falling down his cheeks as he clawed at the chips on the floor._

"_Henry, it's okay." _

_He looked up and saw Miss Blanchard. She kneeled down before him and pressed a tissue to his face, her other hand strongly holding his small hands away from the broken pieces. She looked at him through sympathetic eyes. She had the kindest green eyes in the world, and when she smiled at him, it was almost like she could see him._

"_I didn't mean to break it," he cried. He had to make her understand. He hadn't knocked into her desk on purpose. He was just trying to return his homework. The class had already filed out and he needed to hurry so that he wouldn't miss the bus. He had moved too quickly and knocked her favorite white mug off of the desk and watched it shatter on the hard floor._

"_I know, honey," she cooed. Her soft fingers brushed the tears right off of his face. She moved in and brushed his nose a little bit, before sinking even further to the floor._

"_What's wrong, Henry?" she said, her mug long forgotten. _

_Henry sighed. He didn't want to go into this with her. She could never understand because he could never explain. How could he explain how wrong he was? Wrong for her class, wrong as a son, wrong for existing period. And as long as he was wrong, nothing would ever be right._

_But he didn't have to tell her. Sometimes it was like Miss Blanchard could read minds. She smiled at him again and stood up quickly, beckoning him to follow her. He did and stopped when they reached the bookcases in the back of the room._

"_You know, I love reading, don't you?" she asked him. She kneeled down again and pulled from the shelf a heavy leather bound book that he had never noticed before._

"_Me too," he replied, eyeing the book wearily. Were they going to have to do a project on it? It looked awfully big._

"_I know," she nodded. "I've seen. Even though I really like new stories, sometimes I like to read old ones too. That's why when I found this, I brought it in; so I could read it during my lunch hours."_

_Henry nodded. Good, no project. But now he had something even worse to worry about. How would he get home today. He definitely missed the bus, and he couldn't just walk. If his mother caught him walking down Main Street alone-_

"_I want you to have it," said Miss Blanchard holding the book out to him._

"_What?" Henry blurted._

_She laughed, pushing the book into his arms, "I want you to have it. Read it. Keep it. It's a gift."_

_A gift? Henry had never received a gift before, not one that wasn't from his mother. People didn't notice him enough to consider him for a gift. He pulled the thick book away from his small frame and turned it around until he could read the cover. "Once Upon a Time" was embroidered in tho,n gold string across it._

"…he knew all that was left was to say goodbye."

Miss Blanchard had said that. He knew she had, it was her voice, but somehow... she hadn't. She was still smiling at him, willing him to take the book.

"He had to give her one last kiss; and when he did, true love proved more powerful than any curse," she said.

A curse? Why did that sound familiar? Curse. Emma. Mary Margaret. And suddenly it clicked. Henry slowly peered down at the book in his hands. This was the book that has started all of his problems. Because in it was the story of his town, it's people, and the curse that held them all prisoner. His mother, the Evil Queen had brought them here. And Emma was the savior. Emma, who was his real mother, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Emma who liked him, even if sometimes she didn't want to show it; Emma, who may have even loved him. But it was too late. He had bitten into the apple, just like his grandmother, the difference being that he was going to die. Nothing could make Emma believe. And even if this time she did, she would be too late.

"I know life doesn't always have a happy ending…" Mary Margaret was saying.

But she was wrong. Life _never_ had a happy ending. At least not this life, not this world. Henry could feel his heart start beating fast. He closed his eyes and let out a whimper. He wished Emma were here right now. He should have just let her go; he should have let her leave Storybrooke. She wouldn't have been hurt, because she was the only one who could. And she had promised to come back. She had promised to come visit him. He wouldn't have lost her. But, no. He had to be brave and true. He just had to prove to her that he was right, that she had to save everyone. And now he was dying, and he couldn't even see her.

A sharp pain shot out from his heart and Henry felt himself falling again. He heard a loud ringing, _screaming_, in his ears. Mary Margaret, he tried to call, but the sounds of the world dimmed and with them the lights went as well, until he was looking straight into darkness.


	4. A Witch and a Wizard

Chapter 4: A witch and a wizard

Emma pulled away from the hospital, every inch of her foot pressing down on the accelerator, leaving Mary Margaret looking confused by the entrance. She should have explain more, she didn't think Mary Margaret had understood anything she had actually said, but Emma was not sure she would have been able to. Speaking those words to her roommate- _Henry's in a coma_- nothing had made it feel more real than that.

Emma had spent twenty-eight years of her life training herself how to be emotionless. Feelings did nothing but get her in trouble. Sometimes, along the way, she had slipped, like when she fell for Henry's father, or when she moved in with sweet Mary Margaret, or when she tried to help Eva and Nicholas find their father. But never before had the floodgates completely opened. Well, shit, they were open now and emotions she had never even felt before were crashing down around her. Her ears were ringing, her face flushed a deep red and hot, and her hands were shaking so badly that no matter how tightly she gripped the steering wheel she could barely manage to hold on.

She needed to be next to her son. Why wasn't she lying in the hospital bed next to him, clutching his limp body to her own? _Because_, she told herself, _crying's not going to wake him up_. So now she was racing down Main Street, running two-now three- red lights and eliciting screeching horns as she blew by people who clearly had the right of way. _Screw the law_, Emma thought, _I am the law_.

Emma pinched her eyes closed for a second, trying with all her strength to stop herself from breaking down. She was the sheriff, she was the adult, she was his mother! She should be able to do more for her son than sit and cry and beg. But that was exactly what made Emma sick. She could do nothing. She wasn't a doctor or a nurse, and right now she was not even sure they could do anything for Henry either. She only thought of one person who could; the very person that had poisoned him. Regina.

Emma skidded to a stop in the middle of Mifflin Street, almost lifting her rear tires off the road. After today, no way her little bug was going to work. Panic rising in her throat, Emma jumped out of the car and ran straight through the gate of the bright white mansion. As she ran up the cobblestone path the front door opened widely and Regina stepped through, phone pressed to her ear and her expression almost as panic-stricken as Emma was feeling.

"I'm coming right now," she was saying into the phone.

Emma hesitated. She knew she had been angry when she left the hospital and during the drive over she had been thinking up ways in which to approach Regina. But seeing her now, knowing that Regina knew about Henry, about what she had done to him, Emma felt a fury that she had never experienced before. It was anger and passion and...power clouding her mind, blinding her vision.

Hand on the door, Regina turned and stopped when her eyes landed on Emma. She saw fear and surprise and terror in her enemy's dark black irises, and it repulsed Emma. Regina had no right to be afraid. Emma wanted her normal cocky attitude, wanted to hear a sneering comment. Anything that could further ignite her anger.

"You did this," Emma said.

And faster than Regina could have reacted, Emma covered the distance between them and tackled Regina through the sturdy white door and into the large foyer. Regina gave a satisfying scream, but it wasn't enough.

Emma's movements were quick and precise. She snapped her arm out, slipping between the woman's outstretched hands, and caught Regina with a hard punch to the nose. Standing fluidly, both hands on the lapels of Regina's suit, Emma forced her up and hurled her victim's body across the room and into tall table. And that was exactly what Regina was: Emma's victim. For too long, Emma had stood under Regina's powerful foot, playing the sufferer even when she wasn't a target directly. Now, all of the animosity Emma had harbored since first arriving in Maine exploded from her body and locked onto the mayor like a target.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Regina yelled as Emma swiped a fist through the air and collided with a cheek. Regina stumbled, barely making it to the ground before Emma caught her in her own arms and pushed them both forward with increasing speed until Regina slammed into a wall, causing a picture to crash down around them.

"STOP THIS!" Regina screamed, grabbing onto one of Emma's arms. "MY SON-"

"Is sick because of you!" Emma roared back. She was spitting, screaming, and desperately fighting her own urge to wrap an arm around Regina's neck and twist until the woman stopped moving. "That apple turnover you gave me, he ate it!"

Regina's face fell, her body slipping down the wall a bit. "What?"

"It's true isn't it?" demanded Emma. She needed one more confirmation. She needed to hear it from the Evil Queen herself.

Regina turned her face, "What are you talking about?"

Emma pushed her further into the wall, her forearm pressing into Regina's throat. "It's true isn't it? All of it."

For the first time she saw defeat in Regina's eye, a white flag. But Emma was beyond victory, she was beyond sympathy. Regina nodded and muttered out a yes. It made Emma want to cry. Months and months of denial and ignoring the obvious, doubting her son, and here was the last bit of proof.

"I was leaving town," Emma's voice broke. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"

Emma would have never known. She would have left town, abandoned her son again, convinced that it was the right thing to do. She would have left him in the hands of a true brute.

"Because as long as you're alive, Henry will never be mine," Regina cried.

"He will never be anyone's unless you fix this. You wake him up!"

But she said the worst thing Emma wanted to hear, "I can't!"

She almost felt bad for her. Emma knew what it was like to loose a child, to feel unloved. Almost. Regina was a liar. She was manipulative and she had used Henry many other times-as a way to get Emma to leave, as a way to get Henry to choose his adopted mother over his biological one. Regina cheated and scammed people to get what she wanted. Regina was full of shit.

"Don't you have magic?" She hated the unsteady quivering in her voice. It made her look weak; but all of her anger was ebbing. She was tired. Now all she wanted was to go sit next to Henry in the hospital and protect him from everyone, everything. Emma wasn't sure how much more she could handle.

Tears welled in the rims of Regina's eyes. "That was the last of it," she said shaking her head. And then a spark of anger herself. "It was supposed to put _you_ to sleep," she said finally pushing Emma away.

Emma stepped away bringing her hands up to her hips. "What's it gonna do to him?"

Regina bowed her head. "I don't know. Magic here is…unpredictable."

"So, he," Emma blanched. Her bottom lip started bouncing and she started shaking. "He could…"

"Yes," Regina answered simply.

That was it; that simple answer swept all of the fight out of Emma. She took a couple breaths attempting to steady herself but it was not working. She had come here for answers, for a solution. Henry was just supposed to be sick. He wasn't supposed to be… She could even get the word out in her mind. It was unfathomable. Of all the people who deserved to see the next day, Henry was at the top of the list. She was out of ideas, she needed help. Whether she liked it or not, Regina was the only one who she thought could give it to her. But she couldn't. And now her son, the one she'd painfully given up for his own sake, was dying. And if he did, Emma would never forgive herself. Of all the horrible things she had done in the past, killing her own son was one she could never live with.

"What do we do now?" Emma begged.

Regina swallowed a breath and paced around her. "We need help. There's one other person who knows about this; knows about magic."

"Mr. Gold," Emma said immediately. Of course, who else. There was no one in Storybrooke shadier than the self-proclaimed lawyer and antiquities dealer.

"Actually, he goes by Rumplestiltskin," said Regina, lifting her tear-stained face.

Emma gaped at her, but then quickly close her mouth. _Fairytales are real, get over it_, she reprimanded herself. If this was the world she lived in now, so be it; as long as it was the world that would save her son, then reality or dreams or stories meant nothing now. Emma took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, steeling herself for the rest of the night, days, weeks- however long this was going to take.

"Let's go," she commanded, brusquely marching past Regina, _The Queen,_ and through the front door.

* * *

By the time they rolled in front of the pawnshop it was well past midnight. The lights in the shops of Storybrooke had long cooled off and only Mr. Gold's burned bright enough to cast their hazy illumination on the sidewalk before them. Emma stepped out of the car, slamming the door and walked into the shop, Regina in her wake.

The bell chimed it's usual song, causing the thin-haired man behind the counter to look up. As his eyes found them, he smiled and threw down the rag he was using.

"Well, do my eyes deceive me, or is that the look of a believer?" he said in his normal, smooth drawl.

"We need your help," Emma said approaching the counter. Her tolerance level had skyrocketed well passed bullshit and she was by no means entertaining any game Gold wanted to play.

"Yes, it seems quite the ailment has befallen our young friend," he said grabbing his cane and limping further into the store. He turned a stern look to Regina. "I told you magic comes with a price."

"Henry shouldn't have to pay it," she begged, leaning into the glass.

"No, you should," he snapped. He flourished his hand, "But alas, we are where we are."

"Can you help us or not?" Emma's patience was quickly thinning.

"Yes, I believe I can. True Love, Miss Swan," he smiled, thoughtfully. "It's the most powerful thing in the world. It can cure any disease, solve any problem. And I happened to have bottled some."

Regina's mouth dropped open. She leaned far into the glass separating herself and Mr. Gold and gaped at him. "You did?"

He sneered, "Oh, yes. From strands of your parent's hair."

Emma swallowed and took another calming breath. Her parents, she had not even had time to think about what all this meant for her. For her past.

"I made the most powerful potion of all. So powerful, in fact, that when I created the dark curse I placed a single drop on the parchment."

Now it was Emma's turn to gape. She stepped forward. "That's why I'm the savior. That's why I can break the curse."

His smiled widened and he nodded. Henry had never explained to her why his book said she was so important. He had never attempted to give her a reason. _And now he's dying, because you couldn't listen._

"I don't care about breaking the curse, I need to save Henry."

"Well, lucky for you, I happened to have kept some. I was saving it for a rainy day."

"Well, it's storming like a bitch, where is it?" All this conversation was leading them away from the only reason she was here, the only reason she was not still ripping Regina to shreds.

"Tell me, your Majesty," he said turning to a shocked Regina. "Is our friend still in the basement?"

The color in Regina's cheeks popped back in a flash and in her voice Emma could hear the simmering anger. Mr. Gold gave a laugh and said he knew she couldn't help bringing her over.

"Who is her?" Emma said.

Mr. Gold looked her over for a minute and his smirk returned. He hobbled over to a case that was laying on the clear glass counter and rubbed it down with a rag.

"Where you're going," he said, lifting the lid. Inside was a sparkling, long sword. It's gilded handle gleamed even in the dim lighting of the shop and beside it was it's leather sheath, polished and simple, yet ornate, "you're going to need this."

"What is that?" Emma stupidly asked. She had seen swords, of course, in movies and television shows and even in a couple of plays. But if this was anything like the rest of the night, she knew the sword was important, or laced with magic, or some sort of trap. She was standing in a room with her two greatest enemies, clearly knowing they had the upper hand.

Mr. Gold laid his hands on the lid and stared at her straight on. "You're father's sword," he said.

Emma clenched her teeth, suppressing her reaction. It seemed like every corner she turned, a new blood curdling revelation was going to appear. She reached in and grabbed the hilt, slowly drawing it out of the box. Mr. Gold stared in amused fascination and Regina, in fear. It felt surprisingly light in Emma's hand. Springy and ready for use. It was so beautiful she wondered why anyone would ever want to use it in the first place. Emma nodded; whatever she had to get, whatever she had to do, tonight it would get done. Sword dangling at her side she turned to fully face Regina.

"Where do we go?"

* * *

Emma found her heart thumping in her chest as she made her way up the stairs. Every time the sword's hilt hit her leg, she jumped a little bit. What a strange sight she must have been. The town Sheriff walking the streets of Storybrooke at near two in the morning, gun holstered on one side and large, sharp sword on the other hip. She approached the door and knocked three times.

"August," she called out. "Open up, I know you're in there."

Regina had said that she needed to find her keys and suggested they meet at the town's boarded up library in thirty minutes. Emma was reluctant to let her go, she needed to keep an eye on the mayor, but after realizing that maybe thirty minutes could do her some good, she had made sure that Regina would meet her at the front doors of the building. She really needed someone to talk to, someone not magical, someone who would just listen. Her first thought was Henry, but of course, he would probably not even be able to hear her. She didn't think she could see him anyway, not until she came up with a way to save him. If she stopped, if she let her emotions rise to the surface, she might not ever be able to force them back down. And then she'd become useless. And of course, Mary Margaret was out. She was still hopefully reading to Henry, trying to trigger something. And so, Emma thought of August. August, who had been trying to tell her forever that her son was right. That Jefferson and Graham were right. She had ignored all of them and now she owed them all huge apologies.

"I…can't," she heard faintly through the door.

Scrunching up her face in confusion, Emma stepped back and kicked the door in. It slammed into the wall on the other side and Emma stormed through. Her eyes flew across the room until they landed on August: lying in bed, stomach-up, and arms lined and hard like wood.

"Oh, no," she gasped. Emma stepped forward. They weren't _like_ wood. August's arms _were _wood. "What's happening to you?"

He turned his head slightly. His blue eyes flashed as they lighted on her face. "You can see it now. You believe."

This is what he had been trying to show her in the woods. How could she not have noticed that his limbs were rough and carved wood instead of flesh and bone? How strong could her denial have been?

"Yeah, I do," she told him. "But how- how do I stop it?"

"Break the curse," he murmured.

Emma felt her feet move. They carried her to his bedside and she sat down, staring down at his face, at his _body_. _You wanted proof._ And here it was. Even in his neck she could see the skin changing. It was growing darker, lined, rugged.

"I will, I promise. But I gotta save Henry first. I need help, August."

"No you don't," he assured her. His breathing was ragged, labored, each more shallow than the last.

"Yeah, I do," she pressed. Why wasn't he understanding? She was wrong for this. They had chosen the wrong person. No one had ever put any faith in her; but suddenly Emma had entered a town where everyone needed her. And they didn't just need her to help them, they needed her to save them. "I just talked with the Evil Queen and Rumplestiltskin about a quest to find magic. I can't do it, August. No normal person can."

"Luckily for us, you're not normal," he almost laughed.

Emma sighed and dropped her head. Yes, she was normal. She was the most normal a person could fucking get. Nothing about her life had been special. No one had ever thought she was important. If the world needed a savior, why had they chosen the most incompetent person they could find?

"You can save Henry," he went on. "You can save…all of- all of…"

"August!" Emma called, raising her head. She watched, horrified as the wood spread like a rampant disease. It crawled up his skin, hardening his nose, sealing his mouth, and stopping up his ears. But the worst was his eyes. Blue and full of life and jokes, they turned pallid, like someone had wiped off the sheen. His last, dying breath permanently etched into a wooden statute.

Emma released a sob, just one. Clamping her mouth shut again, she squeezed her eyes and counted to ten. How many people were going to have to die? Now that she finally believed, it was like Karma was swinging right back around and destroying her world. She wasn't saving the world, she was flipping it upside down. And like a punishment for starting too late, everything she had gained was being ripped away, like she was taking the effects of the Queen's curse all for herself- Graham, the man she never got to really know, but who had given her hope; Henry, her son, the only joy her life had seen for over ten years; August, the brother she never got to have; even Storybrooke, her first and only home. Catching a glimpse of the nightstand clock Emma realized that she only had five more minutes. Gripping onto one of August's puppet hands Emma took in a deep breath. She was Emma Swan, damn it. And she had something to do.

* * *

The library was dark, cold, and eerie; everything Emma had imagined it to be when she was a kid. She used to walk by all the different buildings, in all the different towns she had lived in and wonder what kind of people walked in and what they did. For some reason, she had never found the courage to go in herself. Maybe she had been afraid of stories and their power even then. Regina led her to a painted mirror and put her hand to it. When the middle slid up at Regina's touch, Emma exclaimed and stepped back. Behind it appeared an elevator, the cranks and shaft exposed. It was both impressive and terrifying.

"Get in," Regina instructed.

Emma pinched her eyes. No tricks. "After you."

"It's a two man job," Regina huffed. "I have to stand here and lower you down."

Emma threw up her arms. "What's this big battle I have to fight? Who is it? What is down there?"

"A friend."

"Then why don't you go talk to her," she suggested.

Regina scoffed and looked away. She had trapped her, she said. Whoever it was down there, in whatever form, they wanted nothing to do with Regina. Trust me, Regina had said. Trust? She wanted trust after everything. Never mind everything they had gone through in the past, just based on today, Emma should have been operating on an exterminate-first-ask-questions-later basis when it came to the mayor.

"Fine, I will go down there." Still feeling the welling frustration and fury over August's dehumanizing, Emma took a step until she was inches from Regina's olive-skinned face. "But let's get this one thing straight. The only reason you're not dead is because I need you to help me save Henry. He dies, so do you."

Regina did not even take a moment to mull over Emma's threat. Instead, she leaned forward bringing their noses closer and stared straight into Emma's fierce, green eyes, "Then let's get on with it."

After holding her ground for a second longer, Emma stepped away and carefully placed herself in the lift. Regina silently reached forward and slid the metal grate closed. She turned to the side and grunted slightly as she pushed a crank. The elevator shuttered and suddenly, it was moving. Emma had planned to glare at Regina all the way down, but it was faster than she thought. Much faster. She felt her heart fly up as the elevator free fell down past the bowels of the library and deep into what felt like the core of the Earth itself.

She let out a breath as the ride eventually slowed. Good, so Regina hadn't taken the opportunity to crush her like an insect. She might have to keep that in mind. Drawing the sword from it's sheath, Emma walked out of the elevator.

It was a curious place. Black stone made the walls, and they glittered with what must have been quartz and other minerals. It almost felt like she was in a cave. The air was still and thin, but somehow somewhat heavy, like the pressure was great. Rounding a corner, Emma stopped in her tracks. Right before her sat a long rectangle. A carved out log, littered with shattered glass. Emma advanced slowly, careful not to step on too many of the larger pieces. She recognized it. She searched her mind for a mental image, a representation of what she was seeing now.

When she got it, she stumbled back. It was Snow White's coffin. Emma backed into the wall, taking slow, methodical breaths. The last thing she wanted to think about was coffins. Suddenly she felt claustrophobic.

Resting her head back, Emma closed her eyes, only to feel the wall move. Her body snapped straight and she stood stock still for moment. Oh, yes, it was moving. Yelling, Emma jumped away from it and spun around. What she saw evoked more fear, terror, and horror than she had ever known could possibly exist. Spreading its wings in a stretch and rearing up angrily, was a full fledged, talon-clawed dragon. Emma had to fight a dragon. Shit.

* * *

Emma Swan had never once before shot off an entire round of bullets. She had never held a sword and hurled it across a mine. And she had never fought a dragon. In less than two minutes, she had managed to do all three and somehow survive. All she remembered was throwing the sword. The rest was pure, unfiltered terror. The long blade had pierced the purple dragon's tough hide and embedded itself under its skin. In a blazing explosion that rocked the earth and pierced Emma's ears, the dragon had disintegrated, sprinkling it's cremated remains into Emma's hair. The rewards of a champion. But Emma didn't feel like a champion or a savior. She felt like a four year old, experiencing for the first time what abuse was. It hurt all over, her brain was fritzing, unable to make sense of the couple hours' worth of information she had collected. Standing, she saw the glint of jewels in the dune of dust. Emma creeped to it and stooped, collecting the egg into her arms. It was light and miraculously clean.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Emma finally stood and walked back into the elevator. Barely conscious of what she was doing she rang the bell, signaling Regina to let her up. Without her knowing, the elevator started moving, until it was racing stories per minute back to the library. She clutched the egg close to her body. Emma changed her mind. Whatever the world was doing could not wait. She didn't know how much longer she could suppress a complete mental breakdown, but if one more thing came her way, Emma was sure she would not survive.

With a jolt, the elevator came to an abrupt stop, causing Emma to lurch into the gate. She caught herself, painfully clawing at the metal and pushed herself upright.

"Miss Swan," she heard call above her.

Emma looked up and saw Mr. Gold's head peeking down at her. He stared down at her confused and explained that Regina had abandoned her. _The bitch_. Emma sighed and tucked the egg under her arm, using her other hand to pull herself feet off the base of the elevator. Mr. Gold scoffed, pointing out how difficult it would be to climb with something in her hand. He stuck out his hand, telling her to toss it up. Without thinking, Emma jumped down and crouched, football-style, and launched the egg into the air. Mr. Gold caught it easily and suddenly disappeared.

"Mr. Gold?" Emma called up the shaft. No answer. Emma groaned. "GOLD!"

All night she'd made a rule of no games, and when he finally received exactly what she needed, what she had gone through a literal hell and back to get, she tossed it away trusting the wrong person. _Trust no one_, Emma scolded herself repeating her old mantra. With a final pull, she climbed her way out and slid onto the library's cool tiled floor. Just in front of her, Regina murmured. Emma stood quickly and ripped the tape from Regina's mouth.

"How could you give him that?" she screamed.

Emma panted as she snatched the tape off of Regina's legs. Standing from the chair, Regina pushed it away and started out after Emma, ready to pursue Mr. Gold, but halfway to the door two phones blared. Emma yanked hers out of her jacket first.

Her heart stopped. "It's the hospital."

She brought the phone up to her ear and answered. Dr. Whale's familiar voice rang out to her.

"You need to get here immediately," was all he said.

Giving one wide-eyed expression to Regina, Emma stuffed the phone in her pocket and dashed through the glass doors. Regina followed suit and together they sprinted down Main Street. Emma, the more athletic of the two, pushed herself as fast as her feet could carry her, but Regina was not far behind. Running in heels hindered her, yes, but the adrenaline was enough to keep her in Emma's wake. They reached the hospital quickly and crashed though the front doors. Taking the stairs two at a time, Emma arrived at Henry's door first. Dr. Whale and a woman Emma knew only as Mother Superior were solemnly exiting.

Emma ran over to him gasping for air. She took one look at his face and felt her insides shrivel.

"We did everything we could," he muttered, head down.

Emma heard Regina gasp behind her, but she herself did not make a sound. Her feet propelled her to the door. Her arms pushed her through and her legs carried to Henry's bedside.

Her mind, it did nothing. She watched blankly as a nurse switched off the machines keeping Henry alive. The line had been a steady stream of green before it cut to a silent black. She was vaguely aware of the other three filing in behind her. She heard Regina's cries and Mother Superior's prayers, but she had eyes only for her son. She stood there, the worst mother in the entire world, in all the worlds, real and imagined. She had let her son die, alone and in a stark white hospital; her refusal to believe had not gotten rid of the fantasy, it had ended his life. She had killed her son.

Emma amended her thought from earlier- she did not want to lay in bed and hold Henry's body close to her own. She wanted to curl up in some horrible corner and die. If there was any God or any magic or any justice in the world, it would be her lying up on the raised bed, heart dead and blood stilling.

During her time in Storybrooke Emma had changed her mind many times, but right then and there, she knew, once and for all, that she had made the biggest mistake of her life in giving up her son. She had wanted nothing but the best for him, believing then that if he had stayed with her, he would have been doomed. He would have had the life she had had. But maybe he would have had a life, she thought.

Emma gave up. There was no longer any point in holding herself together. There was no one to stay strong for. The very purpose in her life had just died, and so she cried. Fat tears sprung from her eyes and her body shook with tremors. Taking one of Henry' hands didn't make her feel better, it made the guilt wash over her. She almost drowned in it. In a second she would leave. She would leave Storybrooke, she would leave Maine, and she would go bury herself in some miserable life elsewhere. She might not even make it that far; it was more than likely that she would fall along the way and never get up, determined to die a horrible death for the crime she had just committed against the one person in the world that mattered.

But before she did that, she had to let him know. Why she had gone this long without telling him was just another painful reminder of how screwed up she was. What kind of mother didn't tell their child? What kind of mother did not shout it from the roofs every chance she got? What kind of mother did not shower her children in it? My kind of mother, Emma thought, and she refused to be that person.

Barely able to hear her own thoughts, Emma bent down and pressed her lips to Henry's ears. This was only for him. This would be the first person in years she ever said it to.

"I love you, Henry," Emma whispered to him. She did love him. More than she had ever loved herself, and more than she had secretly loved her blanket: her only connection to the world of love. But it wasn't enough, she had to give him more.

Gently pressing her lips to her son's cool forehead, Emma tried to imbue her kiss with all the love that was in her. Never having experienced it herself, she was not sure if it was enough, but with every fiber in her body she wanted to make that kiss important, special. A gift to Henry; for everything he had given her without her asking.

A gust of warm wind emanated from Emma's lips and rustled her hair. Confused, she looked up and stared at Henry's face. Nothing had changed-

Until suddenly his brown eyes flew open in surprise and with a painful gasp he lurched forward, as if his heart were trying to jump out of his chest.

Emma let out a noise and grabbed onto Henry's face. Already the color was coming back: the soft skin under her fingers growing warmer and redder as his blood started flowing again. Emma ran her eyes over his face again and again, incredulous. Henry panted a couple breaths and then locked his colorful brown eyes with her red ones.

"I love you too," he breathed.

And now Emma was truly crying. She wept, eyes wide open, refusing to miss even a second of her son's beautiful face. She ran a hand through his glorious dark hair and wondered why she had never noticed how soft it was before; or how bright his eyes were, or the smile that made her days, or the slight dimple on his chin. How had she missed before, just how perfect he was?

"You did it," she heard a voice behind her. Realizing for the first time that they were not alone, Emma whirled around. Regina was staring at Henry with relief, and happiness, and even love. As Regina smiled, Emma noticed the other people in the room. They all stared directly at her, mouth's wide open and inexplicable fear in their eyes. They moved towards her as one.

"Henry," Emma asked. "What's going on?"

Henry sat up, groaning. He looked around the room and then snapped his head to Emma.

"The curse," he said, enthusiasm growing in his eyes. "I think you broke it."

"That was true love's kiss," gasped Mother Superior, slowly nearing Emma.

"No," choked Regina, her dark eyes going from elation to panic in seconds. "No, _no_."

The nun turned her head. "If I were you, your Majesty, I'd find some place to hide."

With one final look, Regina threw herself onto Henry's bed and searched his face. Emma watched as the tears in the Queen's eyes boiled over and curved down her cheeks.

"No matter what you think. No matter what anyone tells you, I do love you," she insisted to Henry. Emma placed her hand on his back, unsure if she needed to protect him or reassure him. But that was all Regina said. Her bottom lip quivered and then she was out the door running through the hospital and pushing past confused nurses.

Emma turned, watching Henry's face. He seemed confused and a tad bit scared. But when he turned his eyes to hers, Emma saw the most beautiful thing in the world.

Her son, alive.


	5. What Misery feels like

****What Misery Feels Like

* * *

Storybrooke was only in it's opening stages of waking by the time Mary Margaret made her way outside. The sun still hidden behind the clouds cast a grayish light over the streets as shop owners unlocked their front doors and children started rising. Cars spurred to life throughout town and the smells of wives cooking breakfast wafted out to the street, reminding everyone that they were indeed hungry. Though an overcast morning, it was shaping up to be a pleasant day in Storybrooke, Maine.

Mary Margaret noticed none of it. To say that she was conscious would only be partly true. Her soft green eyes were open and her feet moved rhythmically down the cement sidewalks, but in no way was she capable of functioning beyond that. She saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt only one thing: a dreadfully distilled misery.

With misery she expected death; she expected to feel like every inch of her was dying or already gone, useless. Instead, she experienced a heightened sense of life. She could feel the blood speeding though her veins, her heart's slow pulse, and the expanse of her lungs as she took in the cold Storybrooke air. And every part of it was miserable.

If someone had asked her yesterday if she had ever been truly distraught before, Mary Margaret would have answered no. She had been upset when David chose Katheryn. She had felt heartache when the town shunned her and spray painted TRAMP over her car windows. Betrayal followed when David suggested that should could have actually killed Katheryn. When Emma told her that she had no way of revealing Regina's plot against her and then later left her without saying goodbye, Mary Margaret felt backstabbed. And when Regina visited her on her last night in the jail cell, she had been scared, terrified and horrified of what would become of her. But never had she felt absolute wretchedness.

But as Mary Margaret ambled down the street something in the back of her mind tickled. She had felt this way before. Once before. She couldn't pinpoint a time or the circumstance but she was certain that one time in her life she had felt this ache in her heart, like someone was driving a stake through it as slowly as physically possible. She remembered the torture and the agony and she felt a fleeting urge to wail and curl up. But she did not have the energy for it. So she walked.

Mary Margaret had only been to one funeral before; it belonged to Sheriff Graham. It had been a beautiful ceremony, with an almost perfect attendance record. It was the first Storybrooke death anyone could remember for a long time, such a shock that everyone had to go. Mary Margaret had always felt a small connection with the late Sheriff, feeling like he was a kind soul and having seen him the day he had died. But she had really only gone for Emma. Poor Emma who had barged into the apartment close to eleven at night, panting and looking seconds away from throwing up. When she had caught sight of Mary Margaret, Emma dashed up the stairs, slamming the door behind her. After finding the courage to follow her up the stairs, Mary Margaret found Emma rushing about the room, packing.

"_What are you doing?" she asked._

_Emma didn't answer. She kept her head down, blonde bangs dangling over her forehead and shielding her face. Mary Margaret watched as Emma yanked every drawer open and shoveled jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters into her arms, running them to the bed and shoving the pile into an already stuffed duffel bag. Mary Margaret hurried to her and grasped her shoulder, but Emma curled out of her reach._

"_Emma, what's wrong?"_

"_I'm leaving," Emma said brusquely. Mary Margaret started. She couldn't believe how thick her roommate's voice was._

"_Why?" Emma slid passed her, swiping everything off of the dresser by the door into her arms._

"_Before you kick me out," Emma stated. She had said it so harshly, like Mary Margaret had personally wronged her. _

_Still confused, Mary Margaret pushed for more. "Why would I kick you out?"_

"_Everyone does," said Emma picking up her pace like she couldn't get out of the apartment fast enough. Out of the tiny closet she pulled another bag and threw it onto the bed. "Eventually, you will too. You'll figure out what a terrible roommate I am. You'll get fed up and you'll leave- you'll have me leave. I'm getting out of your hair now, before you have to even bother."_

_Truly blown away by her roommate's assumption, Mary Margaret snapped out of her confusion and stepped forward grasping Emma's shoulders and turning her until they faced each other. "Emma, I am _not_ going to make you leave. You are not a terrible roommate. What is going on?"_

_Emma tried to wriggle out of Mary Margaret's arms, but she held fast, desperate for information. She had not known Emma for long, but she had never seen her act this way, and it was scaring her._

_After one more effort to release herself from Mary Margaret's arms failed, Emma stopped. For the first time she looked up, right into Mary Margaret's eyes, causing Mary Margaret to gasp. Emma's eyes were wide, bloodshot, and full of hot tears. Her lips shook and her body rippled with tremors. Mary Margaret no longer stood before an adult, she held in her arms a terrified child._

"_Graham is dead," Emma whispered. _

_Mary Margaret felt the bedroom grow colder. She had just seen the Sheriff in the morning, he had looked-_

"_And I have to leave," Emma was crying now, her voice growing clouded with anxiety and her head shaking from side to side. "I can't stay. I don't belong here. I have to leave."_

"_No, no, Emma," she whispered. "You don't have to leave. No one is going to make you leave. It's going to be okay."_

"_No. I have to leave," Emma's tears came in fat globs, but Mary Margaret could see that she was trying to hold herself together, however difficult it was._

"_But what about Henry-"_

_Emma lost it. Mary Margaret barely had time to react as Emma went limp in her arms. Using her own body to half-carry Emma over to the bed, Mary Margaret pushed the clothes and shoes aside and brought Emma into her in a tight hug. In seconds her shoulder was drenched in Emma's salty, warm tears as the blonde shook violently against Mary Margaret's small body. She hugged Emma even tighter and rocked them slightly, whispering soft shushing sounds into the air. They stayed in that position for hours, well passed the point when Emma's sobs subsided._

At the funeral, Emma was a statue. Mary Margaret had never seen a person stand so solidly still, not a single muscle twitching, eyes barely blinking. She had done her job as acting Sheriff and when she was not needed she stood off to the side, allowing Regina or whoever to make their speeches about the man the entire town had lost. But Mary Margaret only listened with one ear. She kept her eyes glued to her sullen-faced roommate, ready at a moment's notice in case Emma decided she could not handle it. Mary Margaret had known for a while that Emma was harboring feelings for her boss, she just couldn't believe how tragically it had ended. It wasn't until later that she discovered he had died in her arms, seconds away from kissing Emma. She wondered just how many people in the world had seen a truly vulnerable Emma; probably only a few that could count on one hand, was her guess. Emma was never so open with her again, and for the most part they acted as if that night had never really happened, but after it all- the wake, the funeral, and the aftermath- Mary Margaret knew she had gained a friend. It only took a few more weeks to realize she had found her best friend.

And now she was sure to loose that too. Once Emma found out, once she saw her son lying dead in a hospital, she would leave Storybrooke so quickly it would be as if she had never even come. Hell, she might even leave all of her stuff behind; Emma wasn't attached to anything. Walking straight out of Storybrooke was something she could easily do if she wanted. Thinking back on their last conversation, Mary Margaret felt a tear trickle down her face. And now, accompanying her misery was guilt. She might have been able to see Emma at least one more time. She might have been able to convince her best friend in the world to stay in touch, but not after that outburst. After reprimanding Emma like a child for not saying goodbye, Mary Margaret would be lucky to receive a single phone call.

It seemed like for the rest of her life she would be taking one step forward to fall two steps back. She had finally gotten over David. It had taken her weeks, but she finally summed up enough courage and self-worth to put her well being first and turn him away; she was moving on. And just when she gave a sigh of relief, the wind was knocked right out of her. In one day, Storybrooke would loose three people, people who were almost a part of the town's core. The miraculous coma survivor, David, was gone. Henry Mills, the sweet little boy whom everyone knew, was dead. And Emma Swan, Storybrooke's first stranger and greatest protector, was leaving.

And Mary Margaret was in the middle, connected to each of them, feeling the backlash as each bond snapped and left her free falling. But that was not the worst of it. The most miserable part of it all was that she would have to go back. Mary Margaret had thought she was fine just five months ago when she taught at the school and came home to her small apartment to read until it was time to do the same thing the next morning. But now she knew what it was like to love someone so much it caused pain and pleasure at the same time. She knew what it was like to come home and find her toaster broken because her best friend knew no other way to vent her emotions, but later they would talk and buy a new one. And she knew what it was like to be addressed as a formal Miss Blanchard in her fourth grade classroom, but then hear it again when a happy little boy flitted in and out of her apartment bringing news and energy into the small space.

Just as she was not sure if she could ever walk back into her classroom, Mary Margaret found that she could not bring herself to walk back to her apartment. She did not know where she was going, but she could not return there, not alone.

Instead she turned, stepping down from the sidewalk and walking toward the street. From nowhere, a gust of wind, warm and mixed with the scent of everything pleasant, blew into Mary Margaret- right _through_ her.

Mary Margaret stopped in her tracks and gasped as a what she could only describe as a wave of pictures, sounds, and colors descended upon her.

"_Who truly was the fairest in all the land," he father was saying, his hands squeezing her own as he stared directly into her eyes._

_She hollered as she suddenly felt weightless, propelled into the air by a thick mesh of rope. Oh no! The Queen! she thought before she heard a deep male laugh resonate through the forest._

"No, I would have never let you hang," he laughed. She felt so stupid, of course it was her name. "I would have added feet, toes, maybe a horse."

"_Your prison. All of our prisons, will be time." _

_The girl before her looked sweet, draped in a heavy red cloak. "Hey, I just need something to call you."_

"Ruby!" she called. The girl turned around, exasperation written all over her face. "Check please."

"_Regina," the woman said brightly, introducing herself. She smiled back and wrapped her arms around her savior._

"_It's the only way to catch thieving scum," he smirked._

She eyed the word, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. TRAMP

_She fell to the ground shaking. Never, never again would she ride a horse. A pair of strong arms reached for her and helped her up. The woman who saved her glanced over her, clearly worried._

"_And now," he said, brushing his long cape behind him and dropping to one knee, "I never want it off your finger."_

She tried to smile as he wrapped his arms around his wife. She should be happy for him. He was getting his life back, and yet, she couldn't help but feel like she was rob of something precious. Diverting her eyes, she looked down at her hands, playing with her ring.

"_Grumpy," he barked at her. She was not grumpy. She was determined to get out of this prison as fast as possible. "No, my name, it's Grumpy."_

_A shiver ran down her spine as he spoke again, "What ails you child?"_

He glanced at her through the green bars, flashing a white smile at her. "Let's just say, I'm invested in your future."

_Strong arms grabbed her from behind and spun her around. She fought, trying to grasp her bearings and caught of glimpse of her attacker. A blonde, bright blue-eyed man smiled at her before he pressed his lips hard against her own. When he pulled away he was grinning. Twisting her arm, she knocked him out._

"_Do you promise to love him for all eternity?" the priest asked in his booming voice. Pure love filled her heart as she looked at her new husband. "I do."_

"You don't belong together," she said leaning in, a glint of malice shining in her black eyes.

"_It's me, Charming," he insisted. Ugh, she had fallen in love with a man who called himself Charming?! What was wrong with her?_

_A steely determination came over her friend's face. It terrified her. "Let's kill the wolf."_

"I don't deserve this! I did not kill Katheryn!" she sobbed pressing her face into the bars of her jail cell. A strong hand gripped her face, squeezing her cheeks. "I know. But you do deserve this."

"_Why are you doing this?" she cried. Her step mother bowed down. "Because this is my happy ending."_

_She hadn't know that a heart could literally break, but hers was now. She shoved her baby, blanket and all into her husband's arms. "You have to go. You have to take her," she yelled over his protestations. "We have to give her her best chance."_

She motioned for the blonde to follow her. Oddly, she looked familiar, but she continued, "No, it's more than that. He's like any adopted child. He struggles with that most basic question they all inevitably face: why would anyone give me away?"

"_You'll go in there and you'll be safe from the curse," he whispered to her. No, she could never leave him. She wouldn't go._

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she wondered if she was seeing him for the first time. "Get. Out."

"_I'm Sno- Frosty," she said stumbling over her name. She scolded herself, hoping the girl wouldn't ask too many questions._

"It's need to know, Sheriff, and all you need to know is Miss Blanchard's going to bail her out," explained Henry, standing with authority as he looked between herself and his stunned mother.

"_Uh, Margaret," she said. She shook her head, deciding that was not the one. She offered another: "Mary. Mary."_

She cringed at the perfect smile she received. How could such a pleasant woman make her feel so terrible. "Good day, Miss Blanchard."

"_And this is my lovely daughter Snow," her father said introducing her to a dark skinned man with a long goatee. She bowed._

"Mary Margaret," David called after her. He stepped away from his wife. "See you tomorrow?"

"_I'm Snow," she told her savior. "Snow White."_

Mary Margaret stumbled back, slamming into a car behind her. She could hardly catch her breath. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but more images sped passed, blending with others, disorienting her further. She opened her eyes and stared around her. She was flanked by tall concrete buildings, colorful signs of different shapes advertising to her. She was in…Storybrooke, right? But where was that? And who was she!?

_I'm Snow,_ she thought automatically, but in the next instant she wasn't so sure. _Mary Margaret?_ Whoever she was, she knew she couldn't be in the street. _What an odd road…_But no, it wasn't odd, it was a road, a street. There were thousands of them everywhere. A car sped passed her and she half-jumped, both nonchalant about it and terrified by the speed of the unfamiliar vehicle. Her mind was spinning, contradiction after contradiction crashing together.

She continued down the street, ears ringing as her thoughts collided and exploded. She didn't know who she was anymore. She didn't know anything. None of this could be real. What had happened? And then she knew. She was going insane. With the stress of loosing Henry, she had transferred his fairytale obsession as a way to cope. She wasn't Snow White. Yes, she was. Her father was dead, killed by her step mother, and she had only barely escaped the last time they had crossed paths. But she hadn't escaped, because she was here, victim of the Queen's curse.

"Snow!" she heard from across the street. She lifted her head and spotted him. Him standing there, staring at her like she was the most glorious thing he had every laid eyes on. Oh, how she missed that look. Yes, she was Snow. And he, he was-

"Charming," she breathed.

Snow broke out into a run, crashing into James. She ran her hands all over his face, pinching and pressing and rubbing her thumbs against his chin. There was his scar. He stared at her wide-eyed drinking in her face and she did the same. But was he really real? Was it really her Charming, or was this David? Was she still dreaming, wandering in a cursed town?

"You found me," she offered him, bracing herself. There was no way it was him. It wasn't James. Wasn't she alone? Hadn't she just spent minutes realizing just how isolated she was.

His lips twitched with a smile. And he said the most magical words she had ever hear, "Did you ever doubt I would?"

The love and desire and passion welled up in Snow's chest and she forced their faces together. She positively melted into her husband as he lifted her off the ground and twirled her around as he had done hundreds of years ago, when she had told him she hadn't loved him. But now they were both happy, both enthusiastic to be in each other's arms. He lowered her to the ground but kept his arms wrapped around her waist. They had still not broken apart, lips locked together, stronger than a vice. That's when Snow remembered.

She gasped painfully and stared passed James.

"What's wrong," he asked her, turning his head to find what she was looking at.

But she was not looking at anything. She was remembering. The curse, the curse was broken. There was only one person in the world who could do that. _Emma_. _Her Emma_. The soft baby she had cradled for all of twelve seconds before giving her up. Snow's chest burned. That same baby she had been living with for weeks now. And she had never known. It was almost more blinding than physical pain. She couldn't breathe, she stumbled into James' chest. She was so grown up. Tall and strong with a full head of glowing, blonde locks. _You do kinda have my chin_, she had joked. But it wasn't funny at all. She seen her daughter everyday for months, but never once had she actually _seen_ her. And when she thought about the horrible life her daughter had had. All because of her. Oh God, and the horrible surprise awaiting her in the hospital.

Snow let out a sob. James gripped her arms tightly, his own panic rising. "What is it, my love?"

"Emma," she cried.

The one world was enough to send him reeling. His face fell and he gaped at her. They could feel the guilt and shame bouncing back and forth between them.

"We have to find her." His voice broke.

Snow nodded and turned in the direction she had come. "She'll be at the hospital. Henry-"

"Snow!" James grabbed her arms, forcing her body back into his. She turned around and blanched.

A large, billowing purple cloud came racing down the mountain after them. Snow had seen smoke come her way only once before and it was right before she lost consciousness and became cursed. She pulled on James' arm, for one stupid second thinking she could outrun it, but he knew better. James yanked her back and collected her in his arms, pressing her body flush against his own. As the air turned thick, they tucked their heads into each other, holding on for dear life. Snow could not loose him again, she would not survive it. As the rumble of the cloud and its threat roared in her ears, Snow repeated one thing in her mind, thinking it like a mantra, hoping it would keep her safe.

_Emma. Emma. Emma._


	6. A World Flipped Over

A world flipped over:

When Henry opened his eyes, his heart exploded forcing his body off the mattress and then slamming him back down. The world was full of sharp anesthetic smells, the feel of rough sheets and the sounds of people gasping. But Henry still could not see. He panted, fighting passed the pain in his heart, as his vision cleared, the blackness shrinking away and exposing a brilliant light. Henry did not know what had happened to him, he could barely register at the time anything more than pain, but he had known that, in some strange way, he was still alive . He was aware of still being in the hospital, he could hear the machines he was connected to blaring and the doctors yelling. At one point someone must have dropped a heavy tray because he heard it clatter to the ground. And he also heard Emma.

It was not the Emma from his nightmare, that turned him away, shunning him as the son she never wanted. It was the Emma whose voice managed to break through the dream, calling out to him, begging him to come back to her. It was the Emma that told him she believed him, that she loved him.

Henry blinked a few times, speeding up the process. As the hospital room came into focus he only had to turn his head to see her. Bright green eyes trained on his face, mouth half- open, and her head shaking like nothing could possibly be real. Right beside him stood his mother.

"I love you too," he breathed out to her and she cried. She roughly ran her hand over his face and through his hair, still shaking her head. He smiled at her.

And then he heard his mother's voice, his other mother. Henry pushed himself off the bed and stared at the dark haired Queen who had raised him. This time she looked as Henry had only seen her a couple times in his lifetime, bright and happy and radiant. She too shook her head, disbelieving, and Henry wondered just how long he had been out. The sun was already rising, so it was at least a full night; Henry hoped it wasn't more.

Looking around the room he realized that his mothers were not the only ones in disbelief. All of the nurses and doctors in the room stared at Emma, stunned and silent, but they moved toward her, in a trance. Emma caught it too, and turned to him asking what was going on. Henry's heart soared. Yes, she truly believed and she was turning to him for answers. She trusted him.

Henry took in their confused expressions and could only draw one conclusion. "The curse," he said, "I think you broke it."

Now Emma looked just as stunned as everyone else. The Queen spoke out again, retreating as she turned her head from person to person, watching in horror as her work unraveled. No, she said. Henry clenched his jaw. Months ago, when he'd gotten his storybook from Miss Blanchard, he'd started asking her questions. Why didn't time ever get passed 8:15? Why did the people in town look like fairytale characters? Why did he have to keep switching classes? Why was their house the only big one in town? And why was everyone afraid of her? Then, his mother had pushed his questions aside, telling him to stop speaking nonsense and increasing his therapy sessions to two times per week. Then he had turned to Dr. Hopper and tried to get answers from him. Archie was nice and never outright refuted Henry's claims, as was every other adult Henry talked to, but there was one thing that people did not realize about him: Henry knew the truth.

When he met Emma and heard her mention her superpower, he wondered if this was his. No matter how hard people tried to conceal the truth, even if they were good at it, Henry had a way of seeing into their souls. Henry knew that Archie helped people come to terms with who they were, but could not even figure himself out on a basic level. Even though Miss Blanchard smiled brightly and laughed a lot during class, Henry knew just how lonely and miserable she was; how desperate she was for anyone's attention. He knew that when Emma pulled away from him it was her way of saying that she actually cared about him, but she was scared. And even though his mother made him breakfast in the morning, and celebrated his birthday with flying colors, he knew she didn't really love him, or couldn't.

Mother Superior, whom Henry had always thought was the Blue Fairy, turned and warned the Queen to run. Instead, his mother approached the bed, tears stinging in her eyes. She locked her brown eyes with his and Henry looked deep into them.

"No matter what you think," she cried, "no matter what anyone tells you, I do love you."

Henry wanted to turn away, to say no and banish the Evil Queen to some prison far away from him, but he felt himself stuck. He couldn't look away. He both hated her and loved her. Maybe she couldn't love him…but she wanted to. She smiled sadly at him and then turned away, running out of the hospital room. He stayed lost in his own conflicting emotions for a moment longer, but then he felt Emma's hand on his back.

He turned to her. He saw worry and confusion in her eyes, but in her body he saw fear. That's where you had to look if you really wanted to know Emma. She must have learned long ago to train her eyes to tell any story she wanted, or at least only betray the top layer of her consciousness. But the truth was in her subtle body movements. She smiled at him, but she was tense, the fingers pressing into his back a little too stiff.

"Emma Swan," Mother Superior whispered, beside them. They both turned, having not noticed how close the woman had gotten to them. The nun brought her arms up and placed her hands on Emma's cheeks, staring into her eyes. Henry watched Emma rock back on her heels.

"You truly are your parent's child," she was saying, "the savior. Thank you."

Emma nodded quickly and inched closer to Henry. He took her hand and slid over to her, letting her know that he was here for her.

"I must return to the other fairies, we have much to discuss. You should get to safety; I fear Storybrooke will no longer be safe for any of us, most especially you."

The Blue Fairy nodded to them and turned away. Henry and Emma watched her walk over to Dr. Whale, who sat at the edge of the bed, his head in his lap, looking absolutely distraught. She patted the doctor on the back and then left the room, nodding to each person as she went.

"Henry," said Emma beside him. He looked into her face, her far away eyes catching a runaway thread of thought and holding onto it. "If the curse is broken, why didn't they go back?"

Now that was a great question. He had assumed that when Emma found a way to break the curse, they would all go back, back into the Enchanted Forest where he would be a prince and learn to ride horses and fight with swords. Emma would be the princess she was always meant to be, albeit one as fierce as her mother, Snow White. But what if that was not the case? Would they be stuck in Storybrooke for the rest of their lives, forever out of place or cursed? Was the curse even truly broken?

"I- I don't know…" he answered her. Emma's eyebrows pinched together in thought.

Just then a tray of medical knives and scissors clattered to the floor, making Henry jumped. Emma went right over to the nurse, asking if she was okay, but the nurse did not answer. She stared straight out of the window fear rising in her eyes. Emma turned too and Henry saw her jaw drop. If Emma was scared, he had to see it too. Pulling the sticky sensors off of his body, Henry jumped down from the bed and ran to Emma's side. His brown eyes widened to saucers.

A giant- no, enormous, glittering, purple cloud swelled down the mountain, surging and growing as it grew closer.

"What is that?" said Emma not even attempting to hide the panic in her voice.

Henry did not know, but it reminded him of a picture he had seen in his book. The Evil Queen standing over Snow White and Prince Charming's cowering bodies, her arms outstretched and a black cloud filtering in behind her. If that had been the curse, Henry did not want to think about what this was. "Something bad."

In less than a second, the mass had come, soaring right at them. He didn't know how it had found its way through the closed windows of the hospital but before he could catch his breath, the air had turned thick, crushing him in a wave of mounting pressure. And the ground was shaking. Henry fell to the floor, screwing his eyes closed against the painful push of air on his ears. The shaking ground sent shutters through his very organs and made him sick. He couldn't breathe! Was he going to die, again? He felt an arm snatch out and wrap itself around his waist and pull him back. It could only be Emma. She flattened him to the ground with her own body and wrapped herself like a blanket over him. The curtain of her curly blonde hair tickled his face as the wind flipped it around. Wriggling an arm loose he clenched a hand on her arm in a vise-like grip. He could not loose her. Not after everything had done to get her back.

Henry wondered if the ground would ever stop convulsing and then suddenly…it did. The air was gone, just as suddenly as it had come, the blood thickening pressure with it. Henry pinched his eyes closed, and when he felt Emma shift over him, he dug his nails into her skin. After an earthquake there was always aftershock, he had learned that in school; and sometimes the aftershock was worse than the actual earthquake. So, maybe the worst was not over.

Emma slowly lifted herself off of him, but she did not let go. Both arms holding him around the waist and chest, Emma raised herself to her knees and carried Henry up with her. Through his lids Henry could see the light filtering through was not purple anymore. He slowly opened his eyes and his jaw dropped. The hospital was in a state of destruction. Monitors and cords littered the small room. He looked around seeing the nurses and Dr. Whale around them slowly start peeling themselves off of the floor, just as surprised as he was. Even his bed had managed to flip over.

Emma stood up, bringing Henry to his feet. She pulled away from, making him panic again. He clawed onto her arm, but she ran a hand through his hair.

"It's alright, Henry," she said turning him around to face her. "We need to get out of here, okay?"

He nodded and let go of her only to move his hand into her own. She dragged him to the back of the room where his clothes were. Together, they dressed him quickly. He grabbed his backpack and ran to where the stand sat. Grabbing his book, he shoved it into the biggest pocket and swung it over his shoulder. Emma grabbed his hand again, and they ran from the room.

Through the corridor and down the stairs, they ran passed fallen posters and overturned carts. Every out of place object sent a spike of panic through Henry. It was like the world had flipped itself upside down. But Emma had no problem navigating through the wreckage. She guided him over broken lights and pushed them through crowds of confused people. As they passed one corridor, Henry caught a glimpse of Mrs. Nolan- _Princess Abigail_- wandering around, her arms outstretched as if still trying to catch her balance.

Through one more set of double doors and Emma pulled Henry out into the streets of Storybrooke. Henry threw up a hand, shading his eyes from the gray, but bright sunlight. Emma stopped for a second, clearly confused as to what she should do. A person ran by them and Henry recognized him as the man who always sat outside his school. The man always stood far away, and Henry doubted whether anyone ever noticed him but he always found it odd and a little disconcerting that this dark figure would watch as he and his peers made their way to the buses.

"Come on," Emma said, pulling him along. Henry knew she didn't know where she was going, but neither did her. He tightened his hold on her, running two steps for everyone one of Emma's. They rounded the corner and stopped again. He thought the hospital had been destroyed. Storybrooke was a battlefield. Signs lay broken on the ground, halved and cracked. The street had been torn apart, giant pieces of black tar raised and tossed to the side. To the left, a car had flipped and was on fire. Resident screamed and ran this way and that. Mostly he heard names, they were calling each other, searching for the loved ones they hadn't seen in twenty-eight years.

Henry started shaking. Never before had he seen so much chaos. He wanted to be brave, to be like Emma but after today, his nerves were shot. He had fallen into a coma, relived the most horrible thoughts and moments of his life, and had died…or almost. And even though he had gotten what he wanted, the curse broken and to be with his mother, this was not the happy ending he had imagined. Emma released his hand and threw her arm over his shoulder bringing him closer.

They started walking again. Henry kept his eyes straight, afraid of what he might see across the street as horns blared and people cried. Emma quickened their pace. He realized now that they were heading to the corner where Granny's was. Emma was taking him home with her. Relief spread through Henry, relaxing him. The sooner they got off the street the better he would feel. They would both be safe. Emma led him around the block then suddenly stop and retreated back around the corner, tripping over both of their feet and almost falling to the ground. Henry caught himself and whirled around. Emma had backed herself against the brick wall of one of the Storybrooke businesses. She was shaking violently and panting as if they'd just run a marathon. Her eyes were closed and she looked seconds away from breaking down. Confused, Henry approached the corner and poked his head around it. It made sense now.

Down in front of Granny's stood a group of people. Henry recognized Leroy, one of the guards at the hospital who always looked tired, and Mr. Clark, the man who had accused him of stealing when he met Eva and Nicholas. He also saw Granny and Ruby with their arms thrown around two other people. In their arms was David Nolan and Miss Blanchard. _Snow White and Prince Charming._ His grandparents.

Henry turned back to Emma and grabbed her hand. Her eyes were open now, wide like a startled deer's, but her chest still rose and fell quickly. She was trying to calm herself down, but it was hardly working.

Henry looked up into her face and said gently, "It's okay, Emma."

She shook her head and stared down at him. He smiled, but her lips trembled. "I don't think I can do it."

He tackled her in one of his usual bear hugs. She was his mother, it was her job to take care of him, but that did not mean that he could not reciprocate.

"You can do anything," he said, loudly, making sure she could hear him. "You don't have to worry. They're your parents. They love you."

Emma curled her body around his and hugged him back tightly. Head against her chest, he could feel her heartbeat start to slow- no where near normal, but it was definitely going down.

"I'm scared," she whispered. Henry smiled. Emma told him things that he knew she didn't tell other people, but suddenly she was being very open with him, and he like it.

"It's okay," he repeated, pulling away and taking her hand.

This time he led them around the corner, mother and son. He squeezed her hand and pulled her along behind him. They moved slowly, but he knew that Emma would not let go. As they neared, the group in front of the diner turned. Everyone smiled. Everyone except Snow White and Prince James.

They stared.


	7. Twenty Eight Years too Late

Chapter 7: Twenty Eight years too Late

Emma held her son tight in her arms, thinking that less than an hour ago he had been lying still, dead on a stark white bed, never to wrap her in his air knocking hugs again. She closed her eyes breathing in the sweet smell of his hair. It was remarkable how calm he made her feel, like Henry knew how to connect to a part of her that had laid dormant in her heart for over twenty years. Emma cursed herself for taking so damn long to let him in. She'd known, from the first time she had talked with him in the front seat of her rattling bug as she drove him up the highway back to Storybrooke, that this kid was special. That when she told her social worker that no, she did not want to see her son again- she could not be tempted to ever want to disrupt the perfect life she had envisioned for him- that the tiny, brown eyed boy had never actually left her heart. Emma vowed that from now on, Henry would know everything, she would keep no secrets from him. As her heartbeat slowed to something resembling normal, Emma decided she would either start now, or it would never happen.

"I'm scared," she whispered into his hair. She froze, waiting for his answer. She hated to think that his reaction would determine her, but she couldn't help it. If he pushed her away, if he didn't accept her confession...

But Henry immediately put her at ease. "It's okay," he said. Emma let out her held breath. _I knew I loved this kid_.

Henry pulled away from her and took her still shaking hand in his tiny one. Emma couldn't help but smile. What a sight, her ten year old son, who'd already stared death in the face, taking care of her. She held his hand tightly, feeling the warmth flowing up her arm. _So this is what unconditional love feels like_. She was sure she must have felt it with her first family, all those years ago, but they had returned her so in reality Emma could not truly remember a time when she felt loved. How had she ever considered leaving him?

As they started around the corner again, Emma looked up and caught sight of the group that had sent her reeling in the first place. She slowed, but determining that she could do it, Henry pulled her along. Her heart did not start thumping, it started shuttering, literally flopping around in her chest like a dying fish. Emma tried to take steady breaths, but each one made her more light-headed than the last. Halfway down the street the group turned.

She saw Granny, looking like her old, experienced self. Ruby, standing taller and straighter, her chin up and a tiny smile on her lips. Emma picked Leroy out of he group of short men and found him to be one of the most different. Seeing a smile on his face, a genuine smile, was almost unnerving. But she mainly saw them.

Not a smile in sight, Emma saw Mary Margaret and David standing side by side, staring at her. Emma didn't know what she felt. These two people weren't her parents. They were her best friend, her only friend, and the pathetic asshole who broke her best friend's heart.

Henry gave her hand a gentle squeeze, pulling her even closer. Emma felt her bones start quivering. She couldn't do it. She had spent twenty eight years looking for her parents, pouring through files, moving to different cities almost every year, just knowing that one day she would find them. And curse their asses out.

When Emma thought of all her pain, all her loneliness, all the time she spent- _wasted_- lost and afraid, all she came away with was anger. It was a different anger than she'd had fighting Regina. That had been fury, revenge, a type of vengeance that had exploded out of her. This anger- this was so much worse. This type hurt her physically, a hot simmering boiling her stomach into nothing. She clenched her teeth.

They were within inches of each other, Emma with her head trained down to her feet. The tension was thick, she could feel it, like the pressure of the cloud that had enveloped the town.

"Henry!" Mary Margaret whimpered. She pulled Henry into her own arms, making his hand slip out of Emma's.

Just like that, the connection was severed, the only strength Emma had sapping out of her, draining her fast. She felt lightheaded. Emma closed her eyes, pretending Henry's hand was still cupped in her own and attempted to block out the sounds of the world.

She felt two hands reach up and and touch her cheeks, like the nun had done back in the hospital. But this touch was oh, so familiar. Light, gentle, and sweet- all things that screamed Mary Margaret. Emma almost lost it right there. Mary Margaret was exactly who she needed. She needed her best friend to hold her and whisper that everything would be alright, even if she didn't know it for sure. She wanted to go home, curl up on the couch and wait as Mary Margaret brought her a cup of coffee, or even better hot chocolate. She needed the one person in the world who didn't expect anything from her, didn't judge her, and was always just a block's walk away. She needed Mary Margaret.

Emma slowly opened her eyes, bringing her head up, hopeful that that was exactly who she would see. But when she looked into the green eyes of her roommate, deep passed the layer of tears and uncertainty, she did not see Mary Margaret. She saw a woman with fire and passion, the very things Mary Margaret lacked; the very traits that had endeared Emma to Mary Margaret, because they were exact opposites. Even worse, she saw a woman with a smile on her face, tears on her cheeks, and a mother's deep love in her eyes.

Emma felt sick. She needed her roommate, not a mother. She didn't want a mother. Her mother had abandoned her. So she hadn't been left on the side of the road; she had been abandoned in a much worse way. Her mother had stuck her in a wardrobe with a seven years old boy and set the literal weight of a doomed world on a wet newborn. And she had the audacity to look at Emma like she loved her, like Emma was the greatest thing in the world. _She doesn't love me, she loves what I can do!_

Emma hated this woman. She was the reason Emma's life had turned out so miserably. She was the reason Emma had to suffer. And then she had tricked Emma. This woman had made Emma feel safe in the presence of someone who she'd thought was the only good person in the world. Someone she had confided in, and one of the first people she had opened her heart to. Life had just started resembling a normalcy that Emma had envied from her old classmates, and then this woman swooped in and robbed her of the greatest person Emma had ever met.

"No," said Emma pulling herself out of the woman's hands.

"Emma," Mary Margaret breathed, her face falling.

The simmering heat, burned even stronger. She saw David placing a hand on Mary Margaret's back and taking a step towards her. Emma shook her head; if she didn't leave, if she had to see them for one more second she would explode, and it would be worse than last night.

Mary Margaret was crying now, "Emma, please…"

"Don't," Emma snapped. Snatching her hand out like a hostile snake, she grabbed Henry's arm and dragged him along behind her.

"Emma, wait," he said, but she couldn't hear him. She had tunnel vision and all she could see was the road ahead of her, the road away from the place she called home.

"Emma!," screamed Mary Margaret's voice behind her. But Emma marched forward, gripping Henry's hand even tighter.

The world was ablaze in a dazzling red light. It was all Emma could see. She tried to breathe, but the air was as solid as wood. Why did this hurt so much? Emma had been betrayed by every person she had ever encountered. Having a knife driven into her back was a normal sensation. She had met people that had stabbed the knife right into her heart, people that twisted the knife in her spine and left her momentarily paralyzed, and even a few who had chosen to stick their sharp instruments in her brain leaving her numb and useless. And no one had driven the stake further than her parents, back in the time when she could not even remember a thing about them. Theirs had caused a permanent damage, an emotional scarring so deep Emma would never truly get over it. But she had hoped in her naivety that meeting them and speaking with them could start a healing process.

But no, all hope she ever had was gone now, disappearing with the last traces of Mary Margaret. No one could be trusted. How had she been stupid enough to let herself get hurt again, how had she been foolish enough to let someone in so deep into the soft recesses of her heart- a territory so padlocked no one had even heard whispers of it since her first family. She couldn't trust Henry's father- _the bastard - _who had left her alone and naked in a world that wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn't trust Graham, who had gotten through so forcibly that he had died in her arms. And she damn sure could never again even look at Mary Margaret, who had become the cruelest of all of them, picking the lock on her guarded heart, opened the floodgates, and then disappeared leaving behind a shell of herself that forced Emma to reconsider the horrible lie her entire life had been. No one ever again could be trusted.

No one except Henry, but now he was safely inside her tiny chamber and she would never let him out. In his soft, tiny hands he held the feebly pulsing remnants of her ability to love; he _was_ her ability to love, and if anything at all every happened to him, Emma would die inside, her blood becoming an inky black while she fell forever. She clamped her hand even tighter around his, her fingers like the coils of a boa constrictor refusing to let go.

Emma did not know where she was going or even what she was thinking, each angry thought pushing the previous one away before she got a firm grasp on it. It was way passed noon now and Emma was blissfully unaware of the trees that surrounded them. She pressed forward, her drive telling her that she could never stop. She needed to get her son and herself away. She needed to protect them both. She should have left Storybrooke weeks ago, when the impulse had first struck. After Henry had grabbed the wheel, she should have yanked it back and pressed her foot even harder into the accelerator.

Everything was her fault.

She stopped, only when she felt a sharp yank in her shoulder. Henry had halted, every muscle in his body sagging, even his ears like a sad puppy's. He squinted at her through drowning brown eyes.

"Emma, I'm tired," he cried.

It took the tears running down his red cheeks to snap her back into her body. She dropped down and pulled Henry into a full hug. His body was heavy.

"Oh, Henry, I'm so sorry," she whispered into his ears. She had been so engrossed in her own fears and loathing she had forgotten that her son had _died._ She had only had him for a couple of hours and already she was the worst mother in the universe.

Emma pulled back and brought Henry's exhausted face into her hands. She wiped the moisture away.

"We'll find somewhere to sleep. I promise."

"I don't want to walk anymore. I want to go to your apartment," he whined.

Emma pinched her lips together. Looking away from him she realized that she had dragged them into the woods. They hadn't gone very far, but the sun was fully above them meaning they had walked for hours. She recognized a patch of trees and knew that the small apartment was the closest place. Emma glanced back. Henry wasn't just tired, he was terrified, and Emma was the reason. She owed it to him.

She nodded and then stood, bringing him up in her arms.

"You don't have to carry me," he said though he wrapped his long legs around her waist.

Emma squeezed her arms, drawing him closer. "Yes, I do, kid."

Henry got heavier with every step, but Emma refused to lower him to the ground. When they made it into town, Emma took the back roads, one side of her flanked by brick buildings and cars lined on the road and the other, by the tall green trees of the forest. She carried him, finally to Mary Margaret's familiar street and into the tiny building. Even on the stairs, she held him in her arms, bounding up each one like a fire fighter.

She reached the dark green apartment door and found it unlocked. For a fleeting moment she thought they were there waiting for her, pacing like over bearing parents. But they weren't. The door must have been open from the moment Emma barged in and nabbed Mary Margaret speeding her down to the hospital. That seemed forever ago.

Emma climbed the metal staircase and finally gently, deposited Henry on her bed. She pulled the book bag off of his back, depositing it on the hardwood floor and peeled his sneakers off. As Emma stood, hoping to close the blinds and block out the son, Henry reached out and grasped her hand.

"I'm sorry," was all he said, but Emma understood it all. I'm sorry this is so hard for you. I'm sorry you have all these responsibilities. I'm sorry for eating the turnover and scaring you. But mostly she understood: I love you.

Emma shook her head and sank back onto the bed. "Forgive me," she whispered, pressing her head to his. She closed her eyes. Forgive me for dragging you across town. Forgive me for scaring you. Forgive me for not being brave enough. Forgive me for not saving you sooner. Forgive me for not believing in you and not being the mother I should be. But mostly she wanted to say: I love you, too.


	8. Picking up Hearts

The earthquake ripped through the center of town, seeming to flow with the low, thick cloud that bore down upon them. Snow and James never let go of each other, so when they fell, it was into a heap on the battered pavement of the street. Snow clenched her fist to the back of James' shirt and kept her eyes closed. The tremors sent shudders through her body, making her brain feel as if it were doing backflips, crashing into her skull in its execution. She prayed that her daughter was somewhere safe, away from any buildings that may collapse, and hopefully not alone. After this, she vowed, her daughter would never again feel lonely.

As Snow's thoughts reached wondering if it would be difficult to find Emma, the sky parted, letting the gray light cast down upon Storybrooke, and the ground stilled. Snow raised her head slowly and realized she was directly on top of James. He must have orchestrated their fall so that he would take the brunt of it. The idea sent a summer's breeze through her soul; there was her Charming. However, when she opened her eyes, the breeze turned into a frigid wind; her jaw dropped.

It was like the purple cloud had come with tendrils- tentacles as deadly as a jellyfish's. The black ground had swollen and cracked down the middle, overturning cars, and sending bodies rolling. Signs lay broken in front of their store windows, some covering the door, sealing their owners and patrons inside. Clear glass cracked, setting snow-like intricate designs inside the panes that still held. In twenty eight years Storybrooke had never changed, but it had only taken whatever had come flying at them eight seconds to destroy their home completely.

James groaned under her and she scrambled up, having forgotten where she was. Snow stooped to help him to his feet- his as shaky as her own. They used each other to steady themselves; even if they weren't unbalanced Snow would have gripped her husband tightly, she had already gone much too long without his touch and every second she couldn't feel him she feared he had gone again.

"What was that?" she asked him. Snow sidled up closer to him, looking around her. It was entirely possible that another earthquake would throw them to the ground again.

James shook his head and glanced down at her. "I don't know, but we need to find our daughter."

Snow met her husband's strong blue eyes and she nodded, taking his hand. She mentioned the hospital again and pulled him along. She hoped Emma would be still be there, if she had even gone back at all. Emma was not one who handled her emotions very publicly. If she knew Henry was dead, which she must have, she could have refused to even see him, that image being too painful for her to carry. Snow could only imagine. The anguish that had torn through her heart like a white fire when she handed Emma away still felt like yesterday. In a way, it was.

Snow and James hurried down Main Street, James taking in all of the destruction with a wide mouth, Snow keeping her sight straight ahead. She had only one goal, she could not get distracted.

"Snow!" called a voice.

Stopping short, Snow bobbed her head around until her eyes fell on two people down the road, one short with a head of white-silver hair and the other much taller, decked out in the color of blood and fur. Red and Granny. Snow let out a yelp and yanked on James' arm. She didn't have to drag him, as he ran just as enthusiastically. At the last moment, Snow released his hand and threw herself into the arms of her best friend. Red screamed and hugged Snow fiercely. They pulled away and grinned foolishly, laughing from the pure joy.

"Come here, girl," said Granny roughly pulling her out of Red's arms and into her own warm embrace. Snow giggled. She and Red were much closer than she was with Granny, but in her heart she secretly held Red's grandmother as a mother figure for herself. Granny was someone who's strength she always wanted to emulate.

Red and James had just pulled out of their own reunion, both laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes when Snow heard another call. Turning, they all screamed like school girls as seven men rushed over to them. Snow glimpsed the flash of a dopey smile, scraggly beard, crooked glasses, and a loose hat before she was engulfed and drowning in the arms of her seven crying friends. When they backed away, she leaned in hugging each and every one of them in turn. Happy, Doc, cute Dopey, Sneezy between another attack, Sleepy without a yawn, Bashful with his red cheeks, and finally a bear hug for Grumpy. And they in turn, tackled James, Red and Granny, lifting them from the ground and twirling them in the air.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" James shouted over all their talking. The group collectively beamed at him, and Snow wondered how the sun had not come out with all their smiles cast to the sky.

"Can you believe how quickly our memories came back?" asked Happy.

"It woke me up," said Sleepy. "I was sure it was all a dream!"

"I was in the shower," said Bashful, his head ducked. Dopey gave his brother a pat on the head and soon they were all chiming in, mentioning their various activities.

Snow smiled down at them, her cheeks sure to ache after all the cheesy grins pulling at her face. She turned and found herself jumping into the other three's conversation.

"We saw it too," said James, his voice low and serious. Snow assumed they meant the fog.

Red nodded, "I didn't think anyone would miss it. It was like being under water."

"But what was it?" pressed Granny, looking into each of their faces.

"We don't know, but…" Snow did not hear the rest of James' response as she was pulled away by Red.

Her friend cast her black eyes on her and leaned in. "It must have been her, right?"

Snow drew a deep breath. Of course Red's first thoughts would be on how the curse could have been lifted. She and Red had spent evenings intensely discussing what would happen once Snow went through the wardrobe with her child. Of course, the plan had failed, but Red must have already drawn that conclusion; Snow did not look a day older than when they had said goodbye.

_"You'll tell her stories of me, won't you?" Red had implored, her black eyes large. They were walking through the gardens of the castle. The moon hung lightly in the sky, like a crooked painting, its curvature guaranteeing Red a calm night. Red wore the cloak anyway, insisting that it was for the baby's protection; just in case._

_"Of course," answered Snow, breathlessly. Her child was huge, and at times Snow found these midnight strolls she liked to take much more difficult than they used to be. "She'll know everything about her aunt."_

_"Well," said Red swiping her hand through the air. "You can leave out the part where I transform into a bloodthirsty monster. Although, she might find that cool."_

_Snow shook her head and chuckled, too. "You're no monster. And I'll leave out no details. Besides, I want to remember them myself."_

_Red stopped then and took Snow's arms in her own. The crescent moon glowed in her friend's deep eyes. She shook her head. _

_"This isn't goodbye. You'll find me, I know you will. I've taught you how to use that nose," said Red poking lightly at Snow's nose. "This is a 'til then. I just want to make sure I get it in, before the curse comes and it's too late."_

_Snow's eyes immediately brimmed with tears. This was just another example of everything the curse was taking from her. She needed Red, and surely Red needed her. Who would stand by Red's side as she writhed in agony, cloak thrown over her shoulders, but the full moon still calling? Who would Snow speak to when things got too hard?_

_"I don't think-"_

_"Stop," Red ordered. She brushed Snow's tears from her face. "You will. Emma will save us and you will see everyone again. In twenty eight years we will sit in this castle and you'll be jealous of my beautiful youth and complaining about your wrinkles."_

Snow remembered how she had laughed at that, picturing herself somewhere in her fifties taking walks a woman as young as her daughter. But it had not turned out that way. That reunion they had foreseen was never to happen. Emma had gone through alone and Snow had been forced to suffer the curse and forget her child.

"Yes, " Snow nodded. "It was Emma."

Red's eyes grew more focused and she turned her head, eyeing Snow, a question burning on the tip of her tongue.

"_Emma_ Emma?" she let out.

Snow's chest rose slowly. She gave Red a weak smile and Red blew out her breath. Red stepped back and ran a hand through her hair.

"Wow," was all she said.

Wow, was correct. Snow had no idea how she would feel when she finally laid eyes on her daughter. Now she felt pride and love swirling inside her, but she hoped when she touched her, felt that she was indeed real, that something…magical would happen.

"James and I were just looking for her," Snow started, but she was cut off once again when someone called her name, softly and slowly.

Snow turned and saw her friends all looking passed her, smiles and tears in all of their eyes. But James stood, back straight and hands clenched. His mouth was slightly opened. Following his gaze, Snow looked down the street and froze. There came her Emma, head down with a steady and slow pace. She was in the bright red jacket she always wore. Her thick blonde hair was loose and dangling around her face, but she knew it was her. She knew it was her baby. As her child approached, Snow realized that she was not alone. Emma walked down the street hand in hand with Henry.

It was like all the flowers of the Earth had bloomed in Snow's heart. Their petals opened simultaneously, filling her with more happiness than she knew the small organ could handle. When they were close enough Snow cried and pulled Henry into a lung- crushing hug. He smiled brightly at her and the sun radiated in his small eyes. Snow bestowed a rough kiss on his cheek as she thought of how solid and healthy he looked. _Nothing like the dying boy_.

Snow looked up and saw straight into her face. Such a beautiful face. Snow stood slowly and carefully touched her hands to her cheeks. Her skin was not a smooth porcelain like her own, it was even better. Bright and sun- kissed, like her father's, it was exactly as soft as Snow remembered. Her hair was long, as Snow's had once been, and just as unruly, but the blonde locks were the perfect replicas of James' dirty gold hair. She realized that yes, her daughter did have her chin, and her nose, and her large, round cheeks. She had James' tall, straight structure and clearly his musculature. All Snow needed now was the eyes. She needed to look into this woman's eyes and connect her to the wailing baby Snow had fought with all her might to let go of.

As if reading her mind, the heavy eyelids between Snow's hands lifted, like a curtain revealing the most gloriously, blinding sight Snow had seen. They were a color beyond green, beyond comprehension, filled with a history twenty eight years long. And they set Snow's soul on fire.

"No," Emma said, shrugging out her grasp. She retreated a couple of steps training her head down.

"Emma…" Snow knew she was scared. She could see the sleeves of the red jacket dancing as her daughter quivered in it. She tried to move in, to reassure Emma that it would be okay.

Emma shook her head and turned one shoulder away, as if deciding whether to run or stay. Snow's blood chilled as she thought of Emma running from her.

She begged, "Emma, please-"

"Don't," Emma barked. With a flash of movement, Emma snatched up Henry's hand and pulled him along behind her. He protested, but his mother yanked him along behind her, down the street, away from Snow and James.

Just like that, the bountiful meadow of flowers in Snow's heart died. She cried her daughter's name out again, hoping it would pull her back, but Emma's body shrunk faster into the distance.

"But-" James stuttered. Snow turned to her husband and saw he still had a hand up. He must have tried to touch her, like Snow, needing the concrete proof that their daughter was alive and standing before them.

He started forward, "Emma…" but Snow pushed a hand against his broad chest.

"No, let her go."

James look at her and she was propelled back in time to the moment she had instructed James to take their daughter from her arms. He looked on her incredulously, thinking the insanity could not be coming from her mouth.

"We have to give her space. She needs time," Snow tried to explain. In truth, she was really just talking to herself. Snow wanted nothing more than to take off after her daughter, plow through anyone that stood in her way, but for the sake of James, she needed to keep a clear head. They could not both break down.

He shook his head. Snow hated to see the tears spilling from his eyes, all the pain pouring forth like a cup turned over.

"She'll go home. I know she will."

* * *

Her heart told her that she needed to be sitting at home, checking to make sure her daughter had made it safely, but her mind demanded that she seek a distraction. After a weak argument and some goading from her friends, Snow had managed to convince James that they needed to walk Storybrooke. They needed to make sure their other friends were alright. Down the road they could hear yells, as people called each other. Together, hands intertwined, they walked down the main street taking in the mangled world and stopping whenever anyone needed help. They came upon the hospital shortly and Snow watched the people pour from it, running into the streets, dazed and confused. Few recognized them in their panic, but if they did they ran up to the King and Queen who assured them that all would be fine, they were working on it. They instructed everyone to find their family members and return to their surrogate homes to take shelter. They had just reached the parking lot when they heard a voice.

"James?" They both turned to see a woman slowly approaching them, her body tilted as if trying to see into James' face, to be sure.

"Abigail!" James shouted. He ran over to her and threw her arms around the blonde.

A vicious jealousy rose in Snow, but she stomped it back down. It was ridiculous for her to feel anything other than relief at Abigail's appearance. She had been one of James' greatest friends in the Enchanted Forest and one of their strongest allies. This was not the woman who had trapped her husband in a fake marriage, and even then, she had been incredibly pleasant. Snow walked over and greeted her. Abigail, smiled broadly and wrapped Snow in a hug that said all was forgotten.

"Have you seen Frederick?" she asked, the panic evident in her voice.

James' eyes grew wide. "No, not yet. But we'll keep an eye out for him. We'll find him, I promise you."

But James did not need to make that promised. A roar came from down the street and running full speed, they saw Frederick hurtling toward his wife. Abigail screeched and ran for him. They crashed in the middle, but it did not matter. Falling to the floor, they both cried and kissed any inch of the other's face they could find. Snow smiled, despite the pain in her heart. The love these two had for each other, always soothed any misgivings she had about Abigail and James' history.

After giving the couple a minute, James neared them and caught their attention. He shook hands with Frederick. "It isn't safe out here. Go home, now. We'll call on you when we've gotten everyone off the street."

Their friends nodded and turned from them, trotting away. James stuck his arm out and Snow automatically went to him, curling into his chest. They spent most of the afternoon running around Storybrooke. They ran into lords and ladies they had come to know in their time as King and Queen. Aurora and Philip gave them each a quick hug, before hurrying away again. Snow recognized Rapunzel as she turned around a corner and Ariel arm in arm with Prince Eric. They found Lancelot in front of the hardware store. Dressed in a blue mechanic's jumper he ran over to them, immediately asking what the plan was. They told him to be on high alert, helping anyone he could find, and that they could call for him soon. They passed other princesses and noblemen from their neighboring realm. It set Snow uneasy when she spotted Gepetto only to have him turn away from her and duck into his garage.

"Shall we go home?" James eventually asked her.

It was nightfall now. Storybrooke was still in a state of disarray, but almost everyone they could help had been reunited with their loved ones and sent home. Snow nodded feeling both physically and emotionally drained. With her assurance, James led them back to the small apartment she had owned as Mary Margaret. Walking through the grass of the front lawn, Snow realized that she still had an affinity for this place. To her, it still felt like home, and she let her thoughts soak in that comfort for a moment. They opened the door and stepped in, feeling an exhaustion sweep over them both. Snow glanced up the stairs, James mimicking her motion. Emma was there. She heard nothing, but she could feel Emma's presence; it was something she had been able to do even as Mary Margaret.

Snow gently guided James away from the staircase, seeing his foot on the first step, poised to ascend. Though her heart was already in pieces, she taped it together knowing that she could not let James see her fall apart. In his broken state, he needed her to be his rock. When they slid through the sheer white curtain, James proceeded to the bed and sank into it. Snow watched him with her head cocked sadly.

"I feel so numb," he said through droopy eyes. Snow walked over to him and sat on his knees. She pulled him close, placing his head on her chest. He sighed.

"I know."

"She's alive, Snow," he marveled. It reminded her that he had never gotten to know their daughter either.

"She broke the curse."

"Emma's beautiful," he said. James' voice had grown low and slowed.

"She is."

Snow stood and peeled back the covers. James undressed and slid into the bed, settling himself. She joined him and pulled the thick comforter over both of them. James shifted his body and pulled her in, this time she rested her head on his bare chest. Snow closed her eyes, it was remarkable how much warmth he radiated. The pain of missing him welled up and she almost cried. Almost.

She did not get a chance to because she could feel the sharp rising and falling of her husband's chest. Snow looked up and watched the tears run through his pinched eyes. He was trying so hard to contain himself.

"Oh, Charming," she whispered, bringing her face level with his. She laid her lips on top of his, meaning to give him a sweet kiss, but James returned it with a full passion. Her lips parted and they held each other, breathing only between deep hot kisses. James pulled on her lips with his own, knowing exactly where to lay his hands, his hot breath making her want even more of him. She inched closer, although it was almost physically impossible. As Snow raked her fingers down Charming's bare chest she thought she could stay like this forever, it would be the best curse imaginable.


	9. At Home in a Broken Castle

**Chapter 9: At Home in a Broken Castle**

Someone was screaming. A high pitched terror reverberated against the walls, growing louder, more panicked. Underneath the caterwauling came a deep series of thuds, coming closer. When Emma bursted through the bedroom door, almost splintering it in two, Henry realized where the yelling was coming from. It was him.

He stopped immediately, clamping his teeth together, still feeling the remnants of a powerful scream clawing its way up his throat. He glanced down and realized he was on the floor, cocooned in a thin blanket. He was shaking.

Emma ran forward, and Henry looked up to see a baseball bat in her hands. He wondered where she had even found one; surely Mary Margaret hadn't stored one away. She dropped down to the hardwood floor beside him and snatched his face up.

"Henry, what happened?" she demanded, her eyes shifting to every corner of the room. She had still not dropped the bat.

Henry swallowed and noticed that it was difficult, a baseball sized knot stuck at the top of his throat. He also realized he was crying. A full fledge cry, complete with shaking and hiccupping. He tried to stop, but it was like drowning, he had no control.

"I don't want to sleep anymore, Emma," he heard himself wail.

The bat finally clattered to the ground and she pulled him into her arms. Henry nestled against Emma's chest, feeling the unsteady rise and fall. He cursed himself; he had scared her again, but Henry couldn't help it.

He knew he had been asleep. Though he told Emma he just wanted to rest, she insisted that he should take a nap. _You came back from the dead, Henry,_ she had reminded him, e_ven zombies need sleep._ He argued with her for a bit more, but she was solid, refusing to budge, really taking this mothering thing head on. The truth was, Henry was exhausted. Though he had been in a coma for hours, it was almost a waking sleep. He had not rested in any way, his mind battling with the horrible memories of the last few years. Everything that had made him happy had transformed into a menacing monster, eating his heart alive. Everything he had wanted to forget had resurfaced, plunging him into a thick darkness he had believed he was never to escape. The worst of it all was it was his own fault. He had put himself in that situation.

He had closed his eyes, just for Emma's sake, but he did not intend to fall asleep. Asleep, the darkness could return. Asleep, he would be with the Evil Queen, or a Miss Blanchard that pitied him as the crazy student in her class. In his dreams Emma would not be there. There would only be pain and Henry could not handle that. No one knew what dying was like; some said it was easy, like drifting off. But Henry feared it was different. Death could catch you by surprise. It would could wrap you up, blinding you, and forever isolate you from everyone, anyone. Death could be more awful than the most horrid of lives.

So Henry had determinedly forced his eyes wide open when Emma left the room. He stared at the ceiling, he watched the wall, counting the bricks that covered the far side and he spoke to himself a little, reciting the stories from the storybook. But it was all for naught; he had drifted off, fighting until the last breath, his eyelids slamming shut like the heavy doors of a garage.

And it had been a torturous event. Henry could not remember the dream itself, he saw only the dark curtain of his eyelids when he closed them, but the terror: he could recall that. He could remember not being able to breathe, knowing in his heart of hearts he would die, only this time it would be real and it would be forever. The constant pain would last for all his eternity, and so he screamed hoping someone would hear him; he hoped someone could save him, but a voice whispered that no one had ever listened to him and no one would hear him now.

Henry squirmed, pushing his face into the crook of Emma's neck. It was soft there, and impossibly warm. He closed his eyes to her touch; she rubbed her hand smoothly up his back. Down, up.

"It's okay," she whispered.

He whimpered, but already felt the pressure on his lungs melting. Finally, he pushed himself up to his knees and bowed his head.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Kid," she raked her fingers across his scalp, "you have nothing to apologize for."

Henry nodded, "I just didn't mean to scare you. I keep doing that."

Emma chuckled, helping him calm down more. "Well, then I guess the next panic situation will be mine for the taking."

Bringing his head up, Henry laughed. It was so much easier, using humor. The dream had almost completely left his consciousness now and he scrambled from the coiled blanket. Emma stood, taking it up in her hands and folding it back into place.

Henry eyed his mother. She seemed much calmer now. In her face he could still see a tightness, but she seemed comfortable, just the two of them talking. He wondered where Snow and Charming were. If they had been in the house, he was sure they would have rushed up with Emma when he had screamed. He opened his mouth to ask, but stopped. Now was probably not the time.

The way Emma had pulled him away from them, so forcibly, marching through the streets of Storybrooke, her eyes unfocused and dark. It had been unsettling. He wondered if she had even known where she was going, as she dragged him into the woods. His feet were killing him, and he _had_ been really tired, but he knew that she needed to cool off. She needed time to think and process all that had happened; so he followed dutifully, leaving her alone. But when they strayed off of the path, he had to stop her. He halted in his tracks pulling her arm back. He put on the waterworks. His tears had not been extravagant, in fact, if she had been her normal self she would have seen right through them, but Emma had melted right away.

He felt a little bad about having tricked her, but it was truly for her own good. Emma would have walked them off a cliff if he had let her continue. He suggested they return to the apartment, thinking that she would only ever be okay if she faced her problems and stopped running-it was time Emma stopped running away from her destiny-but when she had agreed and then picked him up, he felt a huge guilt wash over him. For a moment, he was going to climb down, knowing what a strain it would have been on her body; they were quite a ways from Mary Margaret's home, but when she pulled him up, he curled instinctively.

Henry had always wondered what a baby felt like being carried. Did they like it? Did they listen to their mother's heartbeats? Or was it uncomfortable? His mother, the Queen, had never exactly been free with her hugs, so when Henry found himself thrown over Emma he wrapped his legs tightly around her waist and tried to make himself lighter. It was like being covered in a freshly heated blanket. It was the best feeling in the world.

She must have felt him staring at her, because when she turned around one of her eyebrows hid away in her bangs.

"You alright?" she said, she had a sly little grin on her face.

Henry shrugged, walking back over to the bed and plopping down. "Are you?"

For one instant Emma's shoulder sunk, and her green eyes clouded, but when Henry blinked the look was gone. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine," she assured him. She threw the folded blanket back onto the bed and pulled on the ends of the comforter, tidying up the corners.

"Are you sure?" Henry pressed. He knew she wasn't okay. Emma didn't fix corners and she didn't fold sheets that neatly.

She sighed. Then she changed the subject. "Hey, I was thinking that I needed to get my car. You wanna go? Get out of the room for a bit, some fresh air?"

Henry smiled at her. He nodded and then ran to the closet where she had placed his sneakers. Emma threw her shiny red jacket back on and waited. He tied she shoes quickly, cheating by sticking the uneven laces into the space between the shoe and his ankle, then he stood and followed her out of the door.

It was late afternoon now and the street was almost empty. Henry walked beside Emma, stepping over shattered glass like thousands of mirrors. It was almost eerie how quiet this part of the town was. Mary Margaret did not live in the busiest section, but all the times Henry had come after school, the people stood in their yards, or left their front doors open; some pulled up, music playing through the clear windows of their cars. There was none of that now. It truly felt like a cursed town. The sweater gray sky, ordinarily not even worth looking twice at, cast an ominous shadow over the streets. The headlights of the cars were like eyes, watching them as they made their way down the sidewalks, judging as they passed. Henry trotted forward and took Emma's hand.

They hadn't needed to go far. They found the beaten, mustard bug before the boarded public library. Henry pinched his eyebrows together. No one ever really parked in front of the library because no one ever _went_ to the library. In ten years, Henry had never once seen anyone walk through the paint chipped doors-not even construction crews. Emma dropped his hand and went around to her side while he sidled into his rightful seat at the front. He remembered the time when he had hidden in her trunk while Emma tried to coax the whereabouts of the maid out of Ruby. When he had popped up, she jumped so badly. He hadn't laughed then, but it had actually been kind of hilarious. He let out a snort that caught her eye.

"What's so funny?" she said starting the car. It groaned and whinnied like a horse before laboriously coming to life. Henry wondered how far they could actually get before it conked out.

He shook his head and then gave her a look. "Can we go to the castle?"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "It's not there anymore."

"It kind of is," he said with a shrug.

Her lips moved in a shrug of their own and she turned the car around. As they headed to the point of Storybrooke, Henry kept his eyes on his window. They passed quickly, but as the perpendicular streets zoomed by, he caught sight of some people still in the road. He thought he saw Gepetto, Jiminy Cricket not far behind. Good, so Archie had not turned back into an animal; that would have been strange. Down another street he spotted Mr. Gold and dark haired woman, but they were gone before Henry got to really look. A couple of blocks later Henry spotted Ruby- now Red- walking with Charming, the two deep in conversation.

Finally they came to their spot. Henry ran from the car, hardly giving Emma enough time to stop. She shouted after him but he raced into the wind and dropped down into the soft dirt and piled wood. It was rotting, wet, dirty, old wood, but Henry felt immediately better just sitting around it. He closed his eyes and imagined he was sitting at the edge of the platform, his legs dangling down like fringe. He heard Emma settle down next to him. She stayed out of the dirt, preferring to sit on one of the bigger pieces of wood, and looked out into the ocean. They were quiet for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. After a while Henry looked over at his mother.

"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked. "When I was in the hospital."

Emma's eyes sank down to the dirt in front of her. She watched a worm struggle to break free of its hole; perhaps it had not dug it big enough.

"I'm honestly trying not to think about it." He barely heard her over the whistling wind. Henry turned his head away.

"I just wanted to know…"

He waited a while before she said anything again. Henry wondered again how long he had been "dead".

"You were in a coma," she said heavily. Henry looked up and was startled to see her face; it was like exhaustion had just settled and taken permanent residence on Emma's forehead, all the muscles sagging down. "I left and I brought Mary Margaret back to read to you; I thought it would help because of David. And then I went to find Regina."

She paused. Henry wondered what had happened when Emma pulled up. The Evil Queen must have been shocked to see her target strolling up the walkway at her. He hated to think what they said to each other.

"I fought a dragon," Emma said on a brighter note.

Henry looked at her and smirked. There may have been fairytales in Storybrooke, but there were no dragons. He would know.

"I did," she insisted, watching his face, smiling. "Remember the mines? The time you went in thinking there was something down there? Well, there you go. There was a dragon."

Henry's face fell slowly. No way there was a dragon. He had been down there. It was nothing but black walls that glittered in the lamplight and rusty railroad tracks that led nowhere. He shook his head. Emma was definitely playing a joke on him.

"I used a sword and everything!" she said lifting her head, she said it playfully but there was a definite sense of pride there.

"Really!" Henry could feel his eyes expanding. A dragon in Storybrooke! How crazy would that have been, but of course anything was possible.

Henry jumped to his knees begging Emma for more details. She obliged filling him in on the potion, the library, and the elevator. When she got to the dragon she could only describe so much. She said she could hardly believe it was happening. Henry sat at her feet beaming the entire length of the story. When she told him about how she killed the dragon, by throwing the sword over her head, Henry actually clapped. He was so excited, bubbles popping and exploding inside of him with every new detail. These were his best dreams come to life. In his mind, he was always the knight, riding his bronze steed to save the day; but this version was much better. He could see Emma running around in the mines, seconds from being burned, her red jacket flashing in the light of the dragon's fire. This version was real, and no one could doubt that it had happened.

They sat out in the bones of their fallen castle until the sun dropped almost beyond the horizon. Little rays still broke through, but the world had grown cold now and the wind was relentless. Emma told him to button his jacket while she zipped hers. They ran to the car, sitting in it for a couple minutes warming their fingers.

"I guess we should get back," said Emma watching the dark blue water roil before them. "I don't think it's a good idea to be out here at night."

"Okay."

She pulled the sputtering car away from the water and back the way they came. Now it was really a ghost town. When the pulled up in front of Mary Margaret's apartment they noticed that there were still no lights on. Emma let out a loud sigh. Henry glanced over and placed a hand on one of hers. She looked at him, her eyes flickering between his face and their hands.

Emma smiled, but Henry saw a thin clear tear slide down the side of her cheek.


	10. In Motion

Chapter 10: In Motion

When an object gets tossed into the air, just milliseconds before gravity brings it crashing back to reality, it experiences a moment of weightlessness; a second where it stops, neither continuing its flight nor retreating, a shift in momentum. It is a state of non-feeling. The world pauses and nothing can disrupt this moment, this beautiful second where the object is alone, uncompromised by anything at all. It can be described as the numbness that follows the excitement. The instant just before the realization comes that the world keeps spinning, no matter how wonderful or wretched one feels. It is a self-defense mechanism, protecting the object as long as the consciousness can.

Emma was past such a state. She jolted up, almost jumping to her feet in the bed. Her world was dark, but she felt his body beside hers, still and lifeless. He was dead. She had not been able to save her son, and even worse she had killed him.

"HENRY! HENRY!" she yelled shaking his body like a rattle, as if that would bring her son back. Her eyes bulged out of her head and she was hysterical.

Henry's eyes snapped open and he gaped at her, gasping like a fish without water; his eyes were blood-shot red and she saw the unfiltered terror ripple through him. She stopped shaking him.

"Emma, what's wrong?!" he shouted, pushing himself up and looking around the room.

It was not as dark as Emma had first thought. She could see him clearly in the pale sliver of moonlight that laid on her bed. She let out a sob. She was shaking so badly it was more like jerking, but she brought her hand up to her eyes and pressed down on them.

"Nothing," even her voice shuddered. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

Emma tried to climb off the bed but found herself instead slinking down, like her body was no longer solid, but a runny mess barely held in place by her skin. She sank to the floor and found herself gasping for air, there wasn't enough in this room. It was too tight, and Emma was sure the walls were closing in, malicious smiles glinting in the dark as they moved to suffocate her. She had to get out.

"Emma," said Henry, coming down to the floor with her. "You had a bad dream."

No, no it wasn't a bad dream. Bad dreams did not start in the evening and follow through two nights later. Bad dreams ended; it was not this continuous nightmare that existed even in her waking hours. When it did that, it was reality. It was called hell.

"Water," she managed. She needed something, something solid to cling to. Anything that could ground her and tell her where she was.

"I'll go get you some," said Henry, immediately coming to his feet.

"No. I'll go, I'm fine," she lied. He didn't believe her, and honestly, that was okay. She just needed to get out. He gave her his arm and helped her to her feet. Emma patted him a little too roughly on the head and then walked out of the room.

The stairs were a challenge. Emma closed her eyes, and grabbed the railing. It was like descending further into her nightmare, the stairs steep and a cold metal. After a slow minute she finally touched down, and pushed herself away. She felt better now, she could breath again. Waking up more, the open apartment filled her with the sense of home; a sense she always got when she woke in the morning. She wondered if Mary Margaret was in her room. She didn't look. Emma went all the way to the counter before she realized someone else was there.

David stood right next to her, a glass of milk cradled in his hands. He was staring at her, looking almost through her, like his blue eyes could see everything: her churching stomach, the mush of her brains now melting, and the strain of her heart. Emma looked away.

She reached for the cabinet with the tall glasses and pulled one out. But with her unsteady hand, the lip of the cup hit the cabinet door and tumbled from her grasp. She waited for the crash that did not come. David snatched his arm out and caught it, holding it to her in an awkward angle. Emma just stared, inside she'd gone numb, and she realized that the man she was standing next to her was not David. David was probably gone.

He paused, then fixed the cup in his hand, putting down the milk. "Water?"

If she nodded, she didn't know it. Emma was staring him down. It was all very subtle, but she knew that this man was not David. David was an apologetic man, someone who always wanted people to like him. He stood broad-shouldered but meek, fading into a background quickly. David's eyes were a dull blue, and his face always had the traces of a frown underneath. This man was different. In his underwear and shirt, this man stood tall and unafraid. For the first time she noticed the muscles that cut his chest, and she wondered if they had always been there or just appeared as suddenly as their owner. His eyes were the startling paint of a bluebird, clear water, and with dark dashes, as if child had run a heavy crayon through them, all combined. His jawline and cheekbones were more pronounced. None of this made him more handsome-David had been attractive physically- they just brought out everything that David was not. Here was a leader, a ringmaster, and a fighter. She recalled the sword she had held in her hand not long ago and remembered wondering what kind of person could use something so beautiful. Here was that man.

He turned the faucet on, catching the water in the tall glass and filling it halfway. Then he handed it back to her. She did not know what she was supposed to feel. For David she had felt pity and the annoyance that such a buffoon kept ruining her only friend's life. She thought Mary Margaret could do better; David was a pain. But when she looked at him, Prince Charming, she felt an almost…reverence for the man. It surprised her. If this was her father, then he was exactly what Emma had once dreamed. He was tall and strong, with blonde hair like hers (she had always imagined her parents would have blonde stringy hair).

Emma shocked herself. For the first time in her life, she did not feel like running. Conflict she could handle, old emotions and memories she could not, and she knew it. But it was like he kept her firm, allowing her to just stand there. He didn't reach out, didn't try to touch her, and he didn't speak. He just waited. Emma took a small sip, wetting her parched throat.

"You're Prince Charming then…" she said slowly. How strange that it wasn't as awkward as she had imagined.

He scoffed good-naturedly. "Snow calls me that. You can too, if you want. But everyone else calls me James."

"You say that like it's not your name either," she eyed him, suspicion rising in the back of her mind.

He shrugged and took a sip of his milk. "I've found names mean different things depending on who's speaking. James is fine."

Emma thought that over in her mind. What did that mean? What was his real name? She stalled and took a big gulp of water. It tickled her thirst and made her want more. In another second the glass was empty. He reached out and took it from her, filling it again. Emma watched him. He seemed to be holding back, the muscles in his arm acting to keep him rooted, even his voice was withdrawn, taut over a layer of welling emotion.

"I heard voices," he said looking at her softly. She wondered what he was thinking. "Is everyone alright?"

She turned and leaned back against the counter. No, everyone was not alright. Her son had died, she'd battled a dragon, magic existed, she'd held a sword, fairytales were real and she was one of them, and the one person she had spent her entire life looking for was standing right beside her, as old as she was. No, she was not alright.

"We're fine," she said. Emma wondered at how easy it was to speak to him. They weren't speaking about anything in particular, but at least the words were coming out. She had barely been able to look at Mary Margaret. Now she was standing in the dark, having a conversation with a man who was supposed to be her father. Perhaps the shadow over it all was like a curtain, giving her a sense of anonymity; she had never really known David anyway.

"I'm glad Henry is okay. Snow told me what happened."

Emma took a deep breath and it shuddered out. She would never be able to get the picture out of her head. Earlier when she'd insisted Henry take a nap, she'd had a panic attack watching him sleep. She sat on the floor beside him counting the number of times his chest rose. When she realized how creepy that was, she forced herself to leave the room. And then he had screamed.

Her face must have been bent in pain, because Charming, or James, whatever, stood straight and inched to her.

"Emma-"

"Stop!" she snapped.

That's where the anger came from. When they said her name like that, like they knew her. They were reaching out, but she could not handle it, mentally or physically. They said it like they wanted to comfort her, and she despised it. Sentences that started that way always ended badly. _Emma, we have a problem. Emma, I don't think we can keep you anymore. Emma, you can't wait forever, you need to pack your stuff now. Emma, you were found on the side of the freeway. Emma, I love you._

With every sentence came the memory and mental image of a person she now hated. Each one of them had added another layer of grime to the shit life that belonged to Emma Swan. The friendliness hit a brick wall and suddenly she was livid again. Emma glared over at him, infusing her stare with all they hate she had stored over the years, specifically kept for the day that she met him. He felt it. His eyes went wide and he stepped back, his mouth a little open. There were tears forming.

It satisfied her. Emma slammed the glass into the sink, spilling water over her arm. She didn't bother to clean it up but marched from the kitchen and up the stairs, hoping he was watching her the whole time. She wanted to show him she didn't need him. That he was as useless to her now as her mother was. When she reached the top of the stairs Emma quietly settled down. She needed to be calm before she walked back into the bedroom; scaring Henry again would be awful. She brought her knees up to her chin and stared at the bottom floor.

_"Emma, stop kidding yourself. They're never coming."_

_"You're just mad at me because my parents aren't dead."_

_"You don't know that they aren't."_

_"Yes, I do."_

_"No, you don't. You don't know anything about them."_

_"Yes, I do. They're looking for me. It's just taking them a long time because I keep moving so much. They're going to catch up."_

_"You're delusional, Emma. Your parents pulled over and dumped you out into the street. Trust me, they're not looking for you."_

_"They didn't dump me there. They had to leave me. Something happened and they had to leave me."_

_ An annoyed scoff. "Right, just like Dustin's parent's had to beat him up. They didn't mean to, it just happened."_

_"My parents aren't like that. You'll see; when they come to get me, you're going to be jealous. I just have to wait for them. They'll find me."_

_"Okay, sure. You just keep holding your breath."_

Emma let out a shaky puff of air. That had been the last stretch. When she was eight years old she had convinced herself, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her parents were coming. If she just stayed still and waited, they would knock on the door and take her home. But months after talking to that kid, she started to think that maybe they weren't coming. Maybe the world was as awful as it seemed. By nine years old she'd gone hard. No family could handle her, and she liked it that way. No more attachments. She wanted to be in and out. Bouncing around from house to house was better, they were all terrible anyway so why stay? And when she did find a home that was good and caring, she raised hell until they sent her back. She determined that no one was going to hurt her like her bastard parents. They may not have been looking for her, but one day she would find them. They would see everything they missed. And she would chew them out for it. Twenty eight years of hardcore scavenger hunting and she had come away with nothing.

Until now. Now her parents were downstairs. Her mother was not foul and ugly, and her father was not fat and stupid as she had imagined. In fact, from the outside, they might have been wonderful. Her mother was a shadow of a loving woman, and her father, admittedly, reminded Emma a lot of herself. But they were her age, they seemed as if they cared for her, and they were sitting right there.

It was nothing that she had expected.

The silence and darkness had calmed her down enough now, that she stood and padded back into her bedroom. Henry sat on the bed, his mop of dark hair greeting her. He lifted his face when she entered and gave her a sad smile. She returned it and climbed onto the mattress with him. Her back against the wall, she curled her feet under her, tucking the blanket over her toes so that they weren't cold.

"I'm sorry for that."

Henry shrugged and leaned back against the wall, mirroring her position. They both looked across at the hard brick wall. Emma wondered if the storming sea within her would ever settle. When she was with Henry it settled, but it was never enough to make her feel calm, at peace. The clock caught her eye, 5:00am its glowing eyes said.

"You should go back to sleep. You've got to be tired," she told him but Henry shrugged his shoulders again, his face twisting in that cute way.

"We don't have to sleep tonight," he said.

So they didn't. They talked quietly in the still darkness of Emma's tiny room. They looked out of the window as the sun rose, changing her bedroom landscape from a shadowy unknown to a bright space. The old and frayed furniture came to life, dotted with flowers in vases and little bird statues that Mary Margaret had placed all around the house. But mostly they sat, side by side, taking in the last moments of alone time before facing another day in a battle torn town. All the while Emma sensed the two bodies downstairs, like steel weights attached to her shoulders, and wondered what to do.


	11. Breakfast and Blueprints

Chapter 11: Breakfast and Blueprints

Sleep was far from Snow's mind when she scooted her body close to James', cuddling with him more than she did with the blankets. Nothing could be warmer than having his arms around her. Nothing put her soul more at ease. Except for tonight. Tonight, her soul was like a rickety boat, crashing amongst the waves of a vicious sea. She was happy-here was her soul mate, so close to her their souls might have actually been touching. She was angry- he was also the man who had broken her heart like no other. Snow was depressed, her daughter only feet away but it might as well have been across another world, the distance between them unfathomable. She felt so many emotions at once that she almost felt none of them. Staring at the ceiling, trying to place where her daughter's body might have been, Snow laid numb against her husband's chest.

In her mind she replayed only one thing: the moment she had given Emma away. Every detail fresh, like she was still experiencing it.

_It was like fire between her legs. Snow screamed, using every vocal cord available. She was conscious only of the absolutely agonizing pain. As the pain receded a bit she let out a breath and collapsed back. James had his arms around her, one on her back, the other holding her legs up. His entire body cradled her as best as he could. He whispered in her ear and rocked her a bit. The rocking felt good, like the constant movement could ward off another contraction._

_"You're okay. You're doing fine," he said._

_She cried, "I am not okay!" This had been going on for hours. When was it going to end?! In just the last half hour each abdomen- squeezing contraction had followed the last with more intensity. Snow was exhausted._

_Doc came running back into the room, dumping blankets and towels onto the bed at her feet. He took one and dabbed it in water, bringing the wet cloth to her forehead. It did little to stop the radiating heat._

_"Gepetto says the wardrobe is almost finished," relayed Doc._

_She nodded, but then reared back as another swelling wave came plowing through her. A low groan escaped her lips, almost as deep as her pain. When it passed, James wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt._

_"I'm so sorry, my love," he cried. Snow knew he felt helpless. He kept his eyes trained on her as Doc instructed him on how to hold her legs. He wanted nothing more than to take this pain from her._

_"We're almost there," said Doc, a worried crinkle forming on his brow. "Gepetto must hurry. It's almost time."_

_The castle exploded in a raucous. The tower bells chimed their heavy, steel rings through the windows. Doors slammed shut and people started running. Metal clanged through the hallways and crashes resounded off the walls. The curse was coming._

_"No, no, no, no, no!" Snow yelled. No, she couldn't come now. The wardrobe wasn't ready, she wasn't in it. They wouldn't make it and her child would be lost, they'd be ripped apart! _

_James shushed her and took her face in his big hands. He stared into her eyes. "It's okay. We're almost ready. We have time."_

_Snow shook her head. He was wrong, they did not have time. Now was not the time for faith, it was the time for action. She had to go now. Ready or not, James had to take her to the wardrobe right now! Snow opened her mouth to tell him but she was cut short. It was like being crushed on all sides by a mountain, the pressure._

_The pain she could handle, she had suffered much pain in the past and found that she'd developed quite the threshold. But the internal struggle was unbearable, a losing battle. Her body and mind yelled at her to push, but her heart screamed back, no! She couldn't, her child's life was at stake. She had to go with her._

_"NO!" Snow screamed as if vocalizing would make her body bend at her will, but it did not. It fought harder, and she was slipping. Snow tried to close her legs. No matter what it took, even if it killed her, she would not let her daughter be born in this world. Snow would willingly sacrifice her life for it, but if it couldn't work, then James could go into the wardrobe with her. She wouldn't need her mother._

_Again, she hollered. She needed more energy. She was putting all she had into keeping this child in place, but it wasn't enough. She felt her, round and heavy, a weight struggling to climb out._

_"It's ready!" she heard and opened her eyes enough to see Gepetto beckoning at them. She looked at James, a glint in his eyes as he smiled. She did not return it. It was over, she couldn't hold on. James tried to lift her, but Doc told him to stop. It was too late._

_Pushing by then was easy. It was natural, something she had been wanting to do for an hour already. But the only thing she could think was that she failed. Her child had not even taken her first breath and already she was a failure as a mother. They would be cursed forever and for all Snow knew, Regina would swoop in and kill her baby, ensuring her revenge would last eternity._

_When the baby slid out, it was like Snow could finally breathe. She heard a sharp wail screech through the air, and despite her inadequacy she could not help but grin. What lungs! Doc cleaned the baby quickly and then wrapped her in the blanket Granny had stitched. She was in Snow's arms in less than a minute and when Snow touched her wet face, she was mollified._

_Snow smiled down at her daughter. Her daughter! She only opened her eyes once, and not even all the way, but Snow saw the greatest green eyes in the world. She hiccupped._

_James laughed and cupped a hand under Snow's, helping her cradle their child. She had never felt happier in her entire life. She wondered if her own mother had felt this way, but her moment was short-lived._

_"The wardrobe, it only takes one," she mused. A crash outside the door. James tightened his grip on her. She had failed._

_Snow looked down at Emma. Hours and hours of pain, fighting every moment to just hold on a little bit longer. She saw Regina's dark face admitting to her that she had not yet taken enough away from Snow. She had tried to poison her, tried to kill James, and next she would come for Emma._

_"No," Snow said, again speaking aloud to her own thoughts. "You have to take her. Take the baby to the wardrobe."_

_"Are you out of you mind!" breathed James. His eyes grew completely round and tearful, like wet coins. She hated herself._

_"No, you have to," she yelled. He yelled over her. He would not do it. Damn it, James, she thought. Why wasn't he understanding. They had to give Emma her best chance. She cared not for what would happen to them; they could burn in hell forever, miles apart from each other, as long as Emma survived._

_He was crying, but finally he got it. Snow laid a small kiss on Emma's forehead, telling her goodbye. Such horrible first words to hear from her mother, but she hoped one day Emma would understand. Snow practically threw her child into her husband's arms. She couldn't hold her anymore. There was no more time. If he didn't take her now, Snow would claw him to death before she let him take her away. James kissed her fiercely and then ran to the door, pulling his sword out of its leather sheath._

_He turned and their eyes connected. She had never before seen such intensity in those bright eyes, like a blue fire had sprung up replacing his irises. It said, I _will_ protect our daughter. I _will_ save her. I _will not_ fail._

_Snow nodded and watched him sprint away. And then every cell in her body exploded. She wailed, never knowing there could be a pain worse than childbirth, worse then loosing your mother, worse than knowing you were responsible for the deaths and punishments of thousands of people, all combined into one. It was the pain of never knowing and losing your child._

Snow closed her eyes when James stirred. He slide out from under her and quietly walked out of the room. She remembered, he always did that. Getting up in the middle of the night for a drink was a regular ritual of his. A bump from the ceiling caught her attention. Emma must be up as well. She smiled, thinking how alike they were. Blonde, with striking features of course, but on a deeper level they were almost the same; same, strong personality and drive to get things done. Both natural leaders no matter what had happened in the past. Snow decided right then that she had done the right thing. If she and Emma never again connected, no matter how painful, Snow could die knowing that she'd done the best thing for her daughter.

From the kitchen she heard the faucet running and voices. They were quiet and Snow strained her ears to hear. She wanted to run through the curtain and join that moment with them, but James had not had the opportunities she had to know their daughter. Snow curled into a ball, preventing herself from getting up. James needed this.

The faucet whirred again. She wondered how long it would take before they could all be a family. Obviously she didn't expect the change to occur overnight, but Snow desperately prayed that it would not be too long.

"Stop!" she heard Emma say and something slammed, clashing with the metal of the sink.

Snow sat up, wondering if she should go see what had happened. She was just touching her feet to the floor when James pushed the curtain aside and stepped in looking defeated. A steady stream of tears rolled down to his chin and dropped to the white cotton shirt.

"What happened?"

His eyes unfocused, he slid his feet over to her side of the bed and sat down.

"The way she looked at me, Snow," he whispered shaking his head. She reached for his hand. "She hates me."

Snow shook her head. "No, Charming, she doesn't hate you. She couldn't. Emma's just scared."

His lips shook. "It was hate in her eyes. I know what I saw. Our daughter wants nothing to do with me."

Snow frowned and wiped a line of tears from his face. She kissed him lightly. Then Emma wanted nothing to do with either of them, because she'd seen the same thing earlier. It was an earth shattering realization, especially when in her heart she felt she did know Emma. They were best friends who just happened to be mother and daughter. But James had none of that. Maybe it was better. He could work his way into their daughter's heart, just as she had done in the beginning. Though she hoped that she still held one foot in the gate, Snow feared that she had been kicked out, the password on the door to her daughter's heart stronger than ever before, specifically designed to keep her away.

"Why don't we lie down," she said, pulling him onto the bed.

He nodded but sat up against the headboard his feet tucked under the covers.

"I'm not tired anymore, but you should sleep," he said patting her leg.

Snow crawled up next to him and placed her back against the headboard. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"No, it's okay. We don't have to sleep tonight."

And so they stared at the white sheet that stood for a door, each in his own thoughts, but knowing that the other was probably thinking of the same thing. Emma.

* * *

In the morning, James and Snow poured cereal from the cabinets and sat at the table. Snow pretended she didn't notice, but every five seconds or so, James' eyes would flit to the stairs, a hopeful look appearing every time, like he knew that _this_ time Emma was sure to come down. She felt for him, because every time he felt a little pain and though she tried not to show it, she felt it too.

"Did you want me to call after breakfast, or will you be calling?" she asked, bringing his attention back.

His eyes lingered on the stairs for a moment longer, then he turned his head, disappointed again. "No, I'll call as soon as I'm finished."

After some time, they had sat in the bed discussing what they should do once the sun came up. Storybrooke was in disarray and much as they wanted to hole up and shy away, they both agreed that they needed to take charge before someone worse did. Regina was gone, disappearing, they had heard, after the revival of Henry, but that did not mean she would not be coming back. There were too many loose ends that needed to be tied and the town really need to be cleaned up. People needed something to do before they ran rampant. So, James had suggested they have two meetings: one for the sovereigns of their neighboring lands, and then a second with their War Council. Snow agreed; they should speak to the kings first, deciding if they wanted to separate Storybrooke into territories. It was a small town, but they did not want to step on anyone's toes- everything was difficult enough as it was.

"Where will we meet? Granny's? It's neutral," she said.

James shook his head, grinding the Lucky Charms in his mouth. "I want to have them here. In our space. Honestly, this is a formality. I want us taking charge; and we can control things much better if we can get everyone on our side. Intimidating them a bit in our home will help, I think."

Snow laughed. "I would hardly call this place intimidating," she said taking in the peeling paint, bright colors, and homey feel of the warm apartment. She did not miss the words "our" and "home" in his sentence.

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to try harder to scare them when they come," said Charming with a shrug.

A set a feet padded down the metal stairs calling their attention.

"Who's coming?" chirped a light voice.

Snow beamed, "Henry!"

He smiled at them and jumped the last two steps. Snow opened her arms wide and he ran forward crashing into her. She held him tightly and then pulled him away so she could look at his face. He had Emma's face, but his hair was a dark brown almost like hers. His eyes were like melted chocolate.

"It's nice to finally meet my grandson," she said recognizing how weird the word sounded coming from her mouth. She was barely a mother and yet here was this boy, the only one she had always felt a connection to, her grandson for the last ten years.

She looked at James and saw the brightness in his eyes, mixing with shock. He must have not remembered that Emma had a child of her own. Standing swiftly, James picked Henry right out of her arms and cradled him tightly. Henry responded enthusiastically, wrapping his short arms around his grandfather's neck.

"Hey Grandpa." They all laughed.

James lowered Henry to the floor. "It's amazing," he breathed, looking over his grandson's small face.

"How are you, Henry?" Snow asked. She could barely process that he was the same boy she had read to in the hospital. With the ghostly paleness gone, eyes shining like never before, Henry was an entirely new person.

"Emma's fine," he answered. Snow gave him a look, and he responded with a sly grin. She had not asked that, but it was exactly what she had been thinking. She remembered that he was the one to figure out the curse.

"So, I was thinking," said Henry, walking around the table and heading for the cabinets. He climbed up on the counter and opened a door pulling out a bowl and then jumped down walking back over to them. "You don't look old enough to be my grandparents, and I think that's cool, but then calling you grandpa and grandma would sound kind of weird, wouldn't it? I can call you Snow and Charming, unless you like something else."

Snow chuckled and James' face lit up. "You can call us whatever you like," he replied.

"Cool, Snow and Charming it is," said Henry pouring a hearty amount of Lucky Charms into his bowl.

"Not that much, Henry," called a voice from the stairs.

Snow's head snapped around. Emma stood at the base of the stairs, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked exhausted, heavy bags in the formative stage under her eyes, and she stood with her arms crossed, purposely avoiding eye contact with James and Snow. Snow felt her heart swell in her chest. Emma had come down. No matter what, it was a step in the right direction. They could go anywhere from here. Snow knew she had to take everything slowly, but right then she wanted to jump up and wrap Emma in an air- constricting hug.

"Come on, Emma!" Henry whined. "She never let me have these."

Emma rolled her eyes and strolled passed her parents, "Just not that much, kid. Let's not start this thing off on a bad foot."

Henry groaned, but he scooped half of his overflowing bowl of oats into the bowl Emma had produced. She hadn't missed that. She glanced at all the marshmallows in his bowl, but Henry gave her a full, toothy grin, so she shook he head and sat down opposite him, beside James.

"So," she started, "who is it you're planning to scare?"

She looked at them through hard eyes that made Snow want to wilt. It was like Emma had a switch that could turn her emotions off if pushed on hard enough. And when they were gone, her whole body turned to stone, like at Graham's funeral. A pang of guilt hit her when Snow realized he had been the Huntsman.

"Well, if we don't do something soon, Storybrooke is going to be in more chaos than it already is," James explained. Snow marveled at how well he could just dive into conversation with Emma, her throat seemed to close every time she even thought about it. "We're going to have a meeting with our War Council, but first we need to speak to the Kings of the other lands to get their support. We don't want to have anyone working against us during this time."

Emma nodded stoically and turned back to her cereal. Snow watched her take a few bites but then quickly averted her eyes knowing Emma probably wouldn't like her staring.

"What time are they coming?" said Emma, swallowing.

"I'm going to call now," James answered, standing to take his bowl to the sink. He stopped and took Snow's as well.

"You should come too, Emma," she said to her daughter. Emma only glanced at her before returning back to her food.

"Of course I'm coming," she grunted.

"Me too?" piped Henry, a mouthful of mushy marshmallows.

Emma nodded, "Yup."

Henry turned and grinned at Snow. She smiled back, happy that he was so excited. This must have all been amazing for him. He had run around Storybrooke for months ranting about how their little corner of the world was cursed, and by his mother no less. And now in less than twenty-four hours he had proven he was right and he had helped save everyone. Emma was right, Snow thought, he deserved to be a part of everything.

James walked off into the bedroom, announcing that he was going to start making his phone calls. Snow finally stood from the table and swept into the kitchen. It was perfectly clean, something that she was grateful for, so preparing an appetizer for their guests would be fairly easy. The world may be in disarray, but that did not call for a drop in hospitality.

Snow poked her head into the refrigerator. She spotted two full carton of eggs in the back. She had started buying a lot more when Emma moved in, finding that she shoveled them down her throat, like they were water whenever Snow cooked them for breakfast. Snow eyed Emma who was talking quietly with Henry. They had yet to exchange words, real words, and Snow wondered if Emma would ever talk to her. This was a perfect opening.

"Emma," she called. Her blonde head sprung up, pulling her attention away from Henry. Snow almost shivered under the cold stare, but she held her ground. She had to keep pushing through. She would never give up on Emma and she'd never give up of their chance to be okay again. "I'm going to make a little something for our meeting. Would you like to help me?"

"I'm taking Henry to pick some things up," Emma said immediately, pushing herself from the table and dropping her spoon into the bowl. Henry popped up and collected both of their dishes.

"I'll be down in a second, Henry," she said climbing the stairs to change her clothes.

Snow watched her daughter's feet retreat to the second floor. Like a balloon meeting a pin, Snow deflated. She did not know how much longer she could stand there, pretending that everything was alright. But that was how she was different from Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret would have curled into the fetal position and cried had she been forced into the same situation. Snow had the urges, the strong desire to just let go and fall apart, but she wouldn't. She was not a princess anymore. She was a bandit and a Queen, a loyal friend and a fierce wife, devoted grandmother and a protective mother. She had to hold her family together, no matter what it took from her to achieve that. She was halfway there. Henry was more than happy to be living with them, surrounded by the love they were showing him in. She and Charming were reunited and together they were a ferocious pair. Emma was the outlier. Emma was her target.

"She'll come around," Henry told her dropping the dishes into the sink beside her.

Snow looked at him and sighed. It seemed Henry understood too; they had to let Emma come to them, clearing a path for her as she approached. Snow ran a hand through his hair.

"Thank you, Henry," she said crouching down to bring his head above hers. She looked up at him and cupped his cheeks.

His little chest puffed out, swelling with pride. He grinned down at her and she felt instantly happier, like his own emotions were transferring down to her. If Emma was the Savior then her son, Henry, was the Hope.

Just then Emma came down the stairs, jingling a set of keys in her hand.

"I'm ready, Henry," she called out.

He and Snow stood from behind the counter. Henry ran around it, joining his mother by the door. Emma opened it and let Henry out first, following him. She stepped through, hand on the door handle and paused. She turned slowly and looked up. Snow caught her breath, her eyes locking with Emma's own, the stony front wiped away exposing a deep dark green, a peek into the turmoil that boiled inside her. Snow saw Emma take a breath and lift her head, like she wanted to say something so she leaned into the counter, inviting Emma to speak, but the action must have been too brazen, because Emma shut her mouth and turned away, slamming the door behind her.


	12. Territory

Henry ran from the apartment door to the car and jumped inside. He wanted to hurry and get back soon. He assumed plenty of people would be coming by the house and he did not want to miss a second of it. Now he would start learning the identities of everyone in town, from the major characters he hadn't been able to place to the tiny ones that flitted between the pages of his book. It was real and now he would know it all.

Emma made a left at the end of Snow's street, confusing Henry. "Where are we going?" he asked her.

"I want to stop by the Sheriff's station first," she answered.

Henry nodded and turned to the window, taking in the streets. There was no one out. It seemed that everyone had scattered to their own shelters and decided the best thing would be to stay there as long as possible. Even without the crowds, Storybrooke still looked a mess. He saw the sign to the bread shop where his mother had liked to shop, broken on the sidewalk. He had really loved their bread, soft and warm no matter how long it took her to bring it home.

Today was brighter. The sun shone over the town giving off its bright yellow hue. Henry didn't know if it was a sign that things were going to get better, or a trick of mother nature's. As he saw it, things could go two ways: happy endings restored or all lives destroyed. He didn't think it would take much for the latter to happen either.

They were on Main Street when Henry spoke again.

"Are you really mad at them?" Henry asked. He loved having breakfast with his grandparents this morning. It made them feel like a real family, but he wished they were all as into it as he had been. Emma was still being stubborn and stoic, though Henry guessed he understood. It would take her time. He could tell that Charming was a little off too, though he was clearly trying to move passed it. The one that really scared him, though, was his grandmother, Snow. She seemed cheerful enough but she still reminded him of Mary Margaret- a happy disposition that probably fooled everyone but him. He sensed that she was having even more trouble than Emma. The tension at the table had been palpable.

"At who?" asked Emma flicking her eyes in his direction. They were getting closer to the station now.

Henry just gave her a look. She saw and rolled her eyes away.

"I don't want to talk about this now, Henry," she said. She clenched her hands tighter on the steering wheel.

"You have to talk about it sometime. You're going to forgive them eventually, right?" Emma sighed and turned her face away from him. "You gave me away and I forgave you."

At that her head snapped back. She pulled the car into the parking lot, roughly coming to a stop and turning to him. Henry bit his lip; he had not meant that to come out as harshly as it had sounded. When he first found out he was adopted he had been angry; he had been furious and incredibly sad thinking no one had wanted him. But when he found her and realized that she was not like the Queen, that she did love him, he instantly forgave her. He was well over it now, but his words had truly stung Emma.

She placed a hand on his cheek and pinched it a little. "I love you," she said forcibly. "And I will never excuse myself for that."

Henry swallowed. That wasn't fair; he had absolved her of any guilt she needed to feel, why would she not do the same for herself. Then Henry realized it wasn't about him. It wasn't about Snow and Charming. It wasn't even about anyone from Emma's past. Emma truly believed she could not be loved, could not be pardoned. She believed it was her fault. Henry looked down. What could he say to ensure her that she had people around her that did truly want to love her?

Emma dropped her hand and turned off the car, signaling for him to get out. He followed her into the station. The earthquake had really done a number here. It was mostly because of all of the loose papers, but the station looked destroyed. Heaving with her legs and a grunt, Emma pushed one of the desks, the one in the office, upright and started digging in the drawers. She produced a gun and started stuffing it with bullets.

"Do you really need that?" Henry gulped. He did not want to believe that Emma would shoot anyone, but he had to be realistic. She could be more dangerous than even the Queen when she wanted, especially physically.

Emma sighed, "I hope not, kid."

She holstered the gun and reached for the sheriff's badge on the floor and pinned that on her belt as well.

"Let's go," she said and he trotted along behind her.

Back in the car, they tore down Main Street heading towards Mifflin. Henry got quieter every foot that brought them closer. At breakfast Emma had suggested that he may want to take a bath to which he pointed out that he didn't have any clothes. Pinching her lips, Emma finally resolved it saying that they would go to the mansion and pick some up. The idea had seemed fine earlier, but now Henry was not so sure he wanted to go anywhere near his old home.

He had finally escaped his prison and he wanted in no way to return. It dawned on him that Regina may want him back. They pulled onto the street and rolled to a stop. Emma switched off the car and placed her hand on the door, poised to get out, but Henry hadn't moved. He stared down at his hands, twisting them over and under each other. He could feel Emma's eyes.

"Do you think she's in there?" he asked his shoes.

Emma settled back into her seat and looked at the house across the street. "Maybe."

"What if she wants me back?" Henry asked, finally looking at her. Emma was strong and brave, but it may not be enough if Regina was desperate.

"Then I guess I'll have a fight on my hands," said Emma as a-matter-of-factly.

"She has magic now."

"Then I'll fight like hell," said Emma. Her eyes turned to steel right before him, but it was a small comfort. Maybe Emma was too brave for her own good.

"You can't beat her with magic," Henry argued. "She'll kill you!"

Emma fully turned to him and looked him directly in the eyes, gripping his chin so that he looked up a her. "You are _my_ son. And I am never going to let anyone take you from me again. I will do anything I have to do to keep you safe and if that means I go down, you better believe I'm taking everyone with me."

Henry bit his lips. She wasn't lying. Emma spoke every word with a fierce growl and he could just picture her with a sword, fighting dragons and witches and monsters. It terrified him.

"Let's go get you some clothes and then we'll go home. In and out," she said. Henry nodded and got out of the car quickly. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He found himself level with her hips, right on the side the gun was on. Henry suddenly wondered if she had brought it for a specific reason, or person.

They made it up the walk fine, but Henry still felt paranoid. His eyes flickered between every window, peering past the drapes and curtains, searching for a shadow or a hint of movement that would send him sprinting back to the car. Nothing came. Emma placed her hand on her door knob and raised her eyebrows high when they found it open. Henry held his breath but Emma seemed to puff up, growing bigger and more confident beside him. Together they stepped into the foyer and paused. Nothing. The house seemed completely empty, not a footstep or bump coming from anywhere. Henry eyed the broken chandelier on the dining room table and wondered if the earthquake had done that. Emma tugged on his arm then and he turned away leading her up the stairs and to his bedroom.

They entered slowly and Henry gasped. His room was as bad as it was outside. Papers and toys littered the floor and his bed. His bookshelf had tumbled down splaying broken clocks and open books into the far corners. The pillow was missing from his bed, somehow ending up on the other side of the room.

"In and out, Henry," Emma said. "Let's grab whatever you want."

Kicking things aside, Henry went into his closet and produced his small suitcase. He took an armful of clothes, hangers and all, and dumped them on the bed, beside Emma. From the drawers he collected T-shirts and underwear, throwing them all at his mother, who chuckled while stuffing it all into the bag. Socks and pants came next. On the floor he spotted his arm watch and picked it up; 11:43, it said. Henry smiled and tossed it over to Emma too. He found a couple of his favorite books and when his eyes landed on one of his CD's he remembered that he wanted his Walkman too. Emma helped him look quickly, leaving everything on the bed, but they could not find it.

"Oh, I think I left it in the office," he said. Emma asked him if she wanted her to go look, but he told her he could find it. Shrugging, she let him leave the room, telling him he had two minutes.

Henry ran down the stairs and into the office, looking on the coffee table and bookshelves for his silver Walkman. Not finding it, he decided to leave it when he remembered that he'd left it in the garage. He'd gone in, after Emma and August had snuck in looking for the shovel. Emma told him that they had found it, but when she came back it was gone. That day, Henry had searched the entire garage, music playing in his ears, but came away with nothing. He had no idea where he mother could have hidden it.

Pushing the door aside, Henry stepped into the garage, his feet leaving the furnished wood floors of his home and hitting the cold concrete. He spotted it quickly, on the floor under one of the work benches. He had crawled under there, behind all of the gardening tools, thinking she could have laid the shovel down and pushed it into the corner. Henry got down and crawled over to it.

"Henry?"

Henry bumped his head, whirling around to the voice behind him. Arms crossed, and still dressed in her dark suit from the hospital stood his mother.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, stepping forward.

Henry stood up and retreated until his back hit the bench. He held the Walkman against his chest as if it could protect him.

"I'm getting my clothes," he said.

She nodded and looked at him through dark eyes. Suspicious, Henry wondered why she had been in the garage in the first place. If she had been hiding, this would not be a good place to do it. She could have been looking for something, in which case it could not be good.

"Are you here by yourself?"

"No, with Emma," he said. Her face turned harder, but underneath he saw a tinge of sadness.

"Are you okay? How do you feel?"

That made Henry mad. "Why do you care?" he asked, recalling that she was the reason he had almost died.

"Henry," she pleaded, "I have always cared about you."

"No you haven't."

To a certain degree she was correct, she had always cared for him. He always had food, and she loved buying him new clothes. His room was perfect and he never left the house until his homework was done. She let him play outside and for the most part let him explore Storybrooke with her when she had business in certain sections. But she had never cared about him the way Emma did. When he had a question Emma answered it, no matter if the answer was inappropriate or might scare him, she told him the truth. Regina shot him down, made him think he was stupid and finally put him in therapy so he could ask questions there. When he wanted something, he could sometimes convince Emma to let him have it or compromise, but not Regina. Henry could talk to Emma. Regina had never taught him anything, not like Mary Margaret. With Mary Margaret he learned to love reading, that being alone was not necessarily always a bad thing, and to never let anyone tell him he was not special. Mary Margaret gave him gifts just because, and they usually did not cost her anything. Regina was lavish, thinking that material things could please him, but Mary Margaret's gift had always had a specific purpose or a memory he could recall when he looked at it. Even Archie had cared about him more; never telling him that he was crazy, except that one time, and after that Archie apologized. Archie was always willing to admit when he was wrong and after their ordeal in the mines Henry felt like his equal. Regina had cared _for_ him, but she never cared _about_ him.

Henry glared at her, hating the soft look she gave him. He didn't want to see her tears. She tried to drive his mother away, she had tried to poison the one person Henry had actually needed, she tried to frame his favorite teacher, and he suspected she had something to do with the whole Archie thing too. She had no right to cry.

"Henry?!" he heard Emma shout. His two minutes were long up.

Regina looked up, a mix of confidence and shock playing on her features. For a second Henry considered letting Emma find him in there. But when he looked at Regina, he realized that no matter how horrible he didn't think he wanted her to die. If she had to deal with Emma, that's exactly what would happen, one of them would not make it. Regina stood as if about to leave the garage but Henry stepped forward.

"I'm going home," he told her, pitying the way her mouth pouted.

He ran through the door, closing it behind him, and found himself almost crashing into Emma. She grabbed his shoulders hard.

"What took you so long?!" she almost yelled. He scared her, again. Henry didn't ever think he would ever stop doing that.

"I forgot I left it in the garage," he answered quickly lifting it to show her. "I'm ready to go."

He saw Emma eye the garage door and his heart jump into his throat. He hoped Regina would be smart enough to stay inside. After a moment Emma looked away and led him back into the foyer. Grabbing his bag, she pushed him out of the door and to the car. They got in quickly and Emma pulled away, her eyes on the road. Henry stopped himself from looking back.

* * *

Henry scarfed down his lunch and then took a quick shower after Emma, scrubbing every inch of himself twice. It was only a day or two, but he felt as if he hadn't showered in a week. Stepping out he pulled his underwear on and then ran from the bathroom. Charming said people would start coming within the next twenty minutes and he couldn't miss a second of it. He ran passed the kitchen and Snow's bedroom.

"Henry, you're dripping wet!" said Snow as he ran up the stairs. He burst through the door just as Emma was pulling on her boots. She looked up and laughed.

"Kid, you have to dry off."

Smiling, he grabbed Emma's towel off of the bed and rubbed it through his hair and over his shoulders. Emma shook her head and went over to the mirror to tie her hair up. In less than three minutes he was completely dressed. He could have done it faster, but pulling on jeans and socks was difficult when he was still sticky with the hot water of the shower.

He and Emma descended just as Snow was putting a platter of deviled eggs on the table. She was dressed more like Emma than Mary Margaret. Jeans and tall boots, she wore a white button up shirt, no cardigan and no jewelry. Charming stepped out from behind the curtain. He had on a sturdy, dark pair of jeans and a plain blue shirt. Henry could not wait to see them in action.

Just then a knock on the door resounded through the apartment. All of the adults instantly tensed, wiping the smile from Henry's face. He wondered how serious this meeting would be. Snow stepped away from the table and signaled for Henry to sit in one of the stools at the counter. Emma followed, sitting down next to him. Charming strode to the door and opened it, the muscles in his back stretching and protruding.

A older man, a tad bit shorter than Charming stood at the door. He had a small dangling beard and a head of full gold hair. Henry noticed he wore thick leather gloves. Beside him stood Kathryn Nolan.

Charming bowed, addressing each of them and shaking hands with the man, "Midas."

Henry grinned. King Midas entered giving James a hard look. Mrs. Nolan stepped through and gave James a big hug.

"Abigail, I didn't know you were coming," he said. She whispered something in response but Henry couldn't hear it.

"Snow White," said King Midas turning to Snow. She gave him a little bow and then lifted her chin, higher than Mary Margaret ever would have. She gestured for him to take a seat. He did, but not before his eyes landed on Emma. He held his gaze and then sat slowly. Princess Abigail came forward grasping Snow in a hug and then she came to Emma.

She looked Emma over with his big blue eyes and nodded. "You look like your father," she told Emma with a smile. Emma grew tense beside him. "Our savior."

Another knock came and soon people started filling the apartment. The second to enter was Prince Thomas and his father, Michael. Snow and Charming were excited to see both of them, giving out hugs and laughing in their presence. Emma however, gave Thomas' father a hard glare, to which he gave her an apologetic smile and took his seat beside Midas. Prince Philip and Aurora came in. They were both young, but greeted everyone kindly. King Triton, white haired with his long beard, came with Prince Eric. James and Eric shook hands like old friends, but when Triton looked at Snow with hostility, James grew sober and asked them all to sit. The last one to enter was a tall muscular black man.

"Lancelot!" said Snow swooping in for a deep hug. She asked what he was doing there and he answered saying he heard there was a meeting and he couldn't miss it. James chuckled and motioned for him to take a seat at the counter.

He approached, confidently and stopped in front of Emma. He bowed deeply causing Emma to raise her eyebrows. "Savior," he said. He held his hand out to Henry who saw his small hand disappear in the man's surprisingly soft grip. He took a seat beside him.

"Alright, we're no longer waiting on anyone. We're gathered here to discuss the future of our people and this town. The curse has obviously been lifted, but we have not returned to our land. The major question is why, but that can be dealt with later. We have more immediate issues," she James.

"I want the witch killed," said Triton immediately. He had a deep, booming voice, his presence automatically heightened.

"One thing at a time Triton," James said automatically. "Regina is indeed a problem, but we need first and foremost to discuss the nature of this town."

"Anger is stirring, people want their revenge," said Thomas.

"That is my point. We must quell that immediately," James gestured with his hands. "Uncontrolled rage will run rampant and destroy what little system we have. We need to organize."

King Midas spoke up, his voice silvery. "What is it you are proposing?"

"Snow and I believe we need to keep the town running as it had previously. We do not know how long we will be forced to reside here. It could be a few days, it could be for the rest of our lives, either way, we can't fall apart."

"It sounds to me as if you think you should be the head of this entire organization," commented Triton.

Beside Henry, Lancelot crossed his arms, his muscles bulging. James sat back slowly.

"We think we have a plan to organize swiftly, yes. It would move more quickly if had had support of the major players."

"One land ruled under your authority," added Thomas' father.

"I will not be ruled by the very source of our current predicament," said Triton glaring at Snow.

"Do not speak to my wife in that manner," snapped James, turning to the old man, a burning intensity in his eyes.

"You defend her. It's honorable," Triton sneered, "but she has singlehandedly destroyed our land and our people. She is the root of this mess and should be treated as such."

"You throw your accusations around unabashedly without all of your facts, King Triton. Do not make a fool of yourself. Your word has no more power than it did in the Enchanted Forest."

"Enough," Snow roared. She stood quickly and for the first time Henry saw the queen she really was. It was fascinating how completely different she looked from the Miss Blanchard who seemed to fade away even when she stood in front of her classroom full of children. Henry glanced at Emma and saw she looking at her mother curiously. He couldn't quite place the emotion in her eyes, but it wasn't the stony look she had lately been dishing out.

"What's done is done," Snow announced. "I can no more take it back than the mistake your own daughter made. We're here to discuss where we go next. Placing blame and killing our enemies will not fix our problem, it will only cause war. We cannot afford that.

"It is my family that has been in the center of this since the beginning. My daughter has broken the curse, at least partially. James and I would like to make all of our lives as easy as possible, but we cannot accomplish that without support. Offer it to us or don't, but do not expect us to relinquish any of our power or responsibilities."

She finished and looked at each person in turn. Abigail, Thomas, and Lancelot nodded. King Midas seemed uncomfortable while King Triton looked livid. Aurora turned her head as if pondering what was said. Snow sat back down slowly and placed a hand on James'. Henry held his breath with the rest of the company.

"How do you plan to organize the town?" Philip asked finally.

"You should do it as it has been done for the last twenty eight years," said Aurora. "we need a mayor and a sheriff."

Thomas nodded slowly. "People want to be led. They don't want chaos anymore than we do. Whatever we decide they will follow."

They conversation volleyed back and forth for several minutes. Henry saw the rift between the older generation and the one of his grandparents. The younger group was more than willing to listen to what Snow and James proposed, but Midas and Triton and Michael seemed to hold that they wanted a huge extent of power. Henry thought it quite obvious what the true problem was, they could not get over that fact that they were not in the Enchanted Forest. They could not adjust.

James finally stood, bringing the conversation to an end. "The question is do we have your support? Or must have hold individual meetings?"

"You have my father's full alliance," said Abigail. She had been quiet the entire meeting, but when she spoke all heads turned. Her father eyed her but she gave him a hard look. She had made a decision. "Call on Frederick and I when you're ready."

James gave a small nod, but Henry could see how grateful he was of his friend's stance.

"You have ours, of course," added Thomas. Michael nodded slowly.

James look at Aurora and Philip. They shared a look between each other and then Philip gave his assent, "We want to be involved."

"As long as I am included," said Eric with a curt nod of the head.

King Triton's answer came last, "We shall see."

James held eye contact with Triton and finally turned away, "Then that is then end of it. Tomorrow we can start formulating a concrete plan. Snow and I have many others to speak with but we shall be calling on each of you promptly. Thank you."

And like that the meeting was over. The guests filed out, Triton leaving first, followed by Michael and Midas. Philip and Aurora approached Emma each thanking her for saving them and serving her compliments. Emma shied away with noncommittal grunts. They left still shouting their goodbyes to everyone. Finally only Lancelot, Thomas and Abigail remained.

"So you're having another meeting tomorrow?" asked Abigail.

"Yes, please ask Frederick to come," said James, running a hand over his scalp. "Ella should come as well."

Thomas nodded and stepped forward to hug both James and Snow. He shook hands with the other two and turned to Emma last.

"You should be as tiny as Alexandra," he smiled. Emma's face went red as Thomas took her hand, bowed and kissed it. He left with Abigail.

"You will be at the War Council meeting, correct?" Snow asked Lancelot. He nodded.

"Of course. I don't think you should worry, you have enough support, now. We'll be able to handle anything."

"Thank you," said James shaking his hand.

"It was nice to meet you, Savior," Lancelot said taking Emma's hand. She shook it, her arm moving mechanically.

"And Henry," he said. Henry brightened as he took the knight's hand, ready this time. He shook it fiercely, eliciting a hearty laugh and a ruffle of his hair.

"Tomorrow then," said Lancelot leaving.

Once the door closed, his grandparents seemed to relax. They fell quiet, probably going over everything that had been said. Snow picked up the deviled eggs and placed them on the counter behind Henry. He turned and plucked one off the plate. She smiled at him, but it in no way reached her eyes. It barely reached her cheeks. Henry wondered if she took what Triton said at heart. That she was the source of all their problems. Maybe it could be skewed in that light, but it would be unfair. Snow wasn't responsible for what Regina did, not in Henry's opinion. No one should be holding that against her. Especially not when she looked so guilty over it.

The kitchen finally clean and the chairs rearranged, Snow excused herself and walked through the sheer curtain and into her room. James sighed and watched her go then followed her, his face set.

And all this time Emma sat beside him, quiet and a sad little girl look on her face. Henry leaned over and pushed his head into her shoulder. She looked down, pulled out of her thoughts and caught him as a yawn pulled his mouth open wide. She chuckled.

"You need a nap kid," she said.

Henry shook his head "I'm not tired."

Emma scoffed and peered over her shoulder at the clock. It was well passed five.

"Yeah, bed," she said and she stepped down and pulled him behind her.

Every step made Henry's eyes droop more as he realized that maybe he was a little tired. But he already decided he was not going to sleep. He could eat dinner, watch a movie, and even read a little bit. But sleep was out of the question, at least not until Emma went to bed. Henry squeezed her hand a bit and trudged up the stairs, still reeling from meeting all the kings drawn in his book.

* * *

**I decided to make Triton such a jerk because the Little Mermaid is my favorite Disney movie and I never liked her dad. I see him as incredibly stubborn and untrusting of anyone. I know his wife died, but I've just never liked him.**

**Also, you were just introduced to who i've decided is my favorite male character of Season 2: Lancelot. i have no idea why I love him so much, I don't even know anything about King Arthur, but he's literally the character reveal I'm most excited for. You should expect to see a lot more of him in this story.**


	13. Long Live The Princess

"Emma, really," Henry was saying, "I'm not tired. I don't want to go to sleep."

Emma sighed. This argument had followed them up the stairs and into the bedroom. Henry was now seated on the bed, feet crossed underneath him and his eyes dull. He was clearly exhausted, having missed out on a proper sleep for two nights now, but for some reason he was being incredibly stubborn.

"Kid, you look like you're about to pass out," she said pointing at him as if he could see himself. "You need rest."

"No," he said adamantly.

Emma slumped and fell back onto the mattress. She closed her eyes. Henry had never been good at listening to directions, she could tell that from the moment he knocked on her door in Boston, but she couldn't understand why he was so against going to bed. Right now, slipping into a dead-like unconscious sounded pretty freaking great to her. Emma opened her eyes and peered over at Henry again. He wasn't looking at her, but out of the window where the sun was just beginning it's descent behind the trees. Her mouth dropped open a little bit. It wasn't that Henry didn't want to go to sleep, it was that he was afraid to. The dark, empty silence that Emma loved about closing her eyes, scared him like no other. Emma chastised herself for, again, not remembering that he had just recently died. Just as she was not completely over it, he could not be either. _When exactly are these motherly instincts supposed to be kicking in?_

With a groan, Emma lifted herself back into an upright position.

"So, I was thinking I could really use a walk," she said to him. Yes, a walk. Fresh, cold air piercing into her lungs, driving away the claustrophobia she felt in this apartment.

Henry turned back to her with his face pinched. "Could I stay here?"

With a huff, Emma nodded. "Yeah, that's fine, I guess. We could go tomorrow."

Henry shook his head, "No, I meant you go, and I'll just stay here with Snow and Charming."

"No," Emma answered immediately. There was the fact that she refused, point blank, to be separated from Henry and then there was…well, she wasn't exactly sure she could trust _Snow and Charming._

"Why not?" he started whining. God, she really hated whining.

"We are not separating. We have to stay together," she said sternly.

Henry looked at her exasperated, the frustration evident in his voice, he argued, "It's not possible to always be together."

Why was he being so difficult all of a sudden? She supposed it had something to do with his lack of sleep. It must be from her, she could be a real bitch without her nightly dose. Not good, two incredibly stubborn and sleep deprived people trying to come to an understanding. Impossible.

"Come on, don't be like that. Henry, if something happens-"

"Emma, nothing's going to happen and you really need that walk," he cried.

Emma stopped and turned her head, eyeing him suspiciously. She couldn't help but chuckle. "Is this your way of telling me I'm a pain?"

Henry tried, but he couldn't help the grin pulling at his lips. He laughed, "Maybe."

Now they were both laughing. In the last two days she had not been apart from Henry for even a second, not even when he was in the shower. She had secretly walked by the door several times listening for any signs of distress. She had turned into a creep!

"I guess I have been smothering you, huh?" she admitted, shyly. She hadn't meant it, really. She had just never been so on edge in all her life. At times she felt like a balloon, her mind about to just fly away unable to handle the ridiculousness of their current situation. Henry was her anchor.

"A little," he said sinking down onto the bed and laying his head on a pillow.

Emma let out a breath, making wet popping noises with her mouth. Maybe some alone time would be good, for both of them. It would give her time to maybe start really processing everything instead of pushing it aside. She didn't really think breaking down in front of Henry would be a good idea, as was bound to happen if she didn't try to sort through the mess in her life.

"Here," said Henry suddenly jumping off the bed. He reached into his book bag and drew out a black box. "We can use the walkies. I'll radio you every fifteen minutes."

He handed Emma hers and climbed back onto the bed, switching the buttons on his own. At least this way she could stay in contact with him.

"Fine," she finally uttered. "Make it seven and we have a deal."

Henry laughed and agreed, reaching over to turn the little clock on the nightstand in his direction.

"And you have to stay here and at least try to rest," Emma added.

He pouted, but she wagged her finger. If she was going to give up something, so was he. Shortly thinking it over, Henry nodded. Emma placed her hand on his head and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. Before she pulled away, he kissed her too, on the cheek. Her whole face burst into a red hot heat. She grinned.

"Come lock the door behind me," she said standing and walking out. He groaned but didn't say anything and followed her to the door. Just as he closed it, she leaned in. "Seven minutes."

"Okay," he answered and shut the door. She heard the lock slide into place. Emma didn't know why she felt like she needed to lock him in. He wasn't in prison and honestly, he would probably unlock it as soon as she walked down the stairs, but it made her feel better. At least she could fool herself with the hope that he would listen.

A sandy crackle came over the radio, "Testing, testing. This is Henry."

Emma smiled and raised the device to her lips. "This is Emma, over and out."

She clipped it securely to her belt and made her way down the stairs. As she entered, she could hear the voices of Mary Margaret and David. They almost seemed to be arguing. As she touched down on the bottom floor, they turned. Mary Margaret was seated at the bar and David was standing on the other side, leaning into the counter.

"I'm going for a walk," she said quickly. "Henry's asleep."

And without waiting for their responses Emma walked straight out of the door. And with that slam Emma automatically felt better. She trotted down the stairs and finally onto the street, feeling clearer than she had all day.

* * *

Like earlier, Storybrooke was incredibly quiet, all doors closed and most everyone in sight. There were a couple of stragglers, wandering the street looking either confused or extremely anxious and in a hurry. They looked as if they were about to get struck down any moment. Emma supposed she should feel that way too. Regina was obviously in hiding and she didn't know of any, but she was sure there were other people just as bad or worse, their evilness stamped out by the curse, now fully returned.

Emma crossed her arms; she should have brought a jacket. It had gotten a lot chillier than the morning and the sun was dropping quickly.

"This is Henry," her hip shouted. Emma chuckled and unclipped it.

"This is Emma," she responded, her head down, as she placed it back on her belt. She was just passing the hardware store was someone came out and bumped right into her.

"I'm so sorry," she said immediately.

"No, no, I wasn't looking," babbled a short man with bright blonde hair. He looked up and his face shifted into a brilliant smile. "Oh, Princess Emma."

Emma stepped back. What had he just called her? The small man took her hand and shook it fervently. Thank you, he said over and over again. Emma mumbled something incoherent and hurried away from him, wrapping her arms even tighter around her waist.

Princess Emma. _Princess._ Nothing, NOTHING, could be further from the truth. Emma Swan was not a princess. Emma Swan was a badass, a fighter. She did not wear dresses, she did not go to parties, and she did not go to socials. She was not important; Emma was a problem child, a head case, someone who belonged no where and went everywhere. She was not poised or perfect or even pretty. She couldn't help people because she could barely help her self. She was not a savior.

"This is Henry," chirped the radio again. _Has it been seven minutes already?_

"This is Emma," she answered.

Emma practically ran around the corner, putting as much distance from herself and the smiling man. Down the street two women walked toward her arm in arm. One was tall with long black hair, the other was a bit shorter with flaming red curls that spiraled down her back. They had their heads pressed together, one whispering something in the other's ears and didn't notice Emma until she was right in front of them. As Emma passed, the dark haired one snatched out her arm.

"Princess Emma, right?" she asked. She was pretty, of Asian descent, with a straightness in her back.

Emma stepped out of arm's reach. "Who are you?"

"Mulan," she answered placing a hand on her chest and then pointing to the red-head. "And this is Ariel."

Emma's jaw literally dropped like a hinge had broken.

"We wanted to thank you," continued Mulan, a fierce look in her dark eyes. "the King called about the meeting tomorrow. Will you be attending?"

Emma bit her teeth together and nodded slowly, breathing shallow gulps of air. The red-head, Ariel, started waving her arms, first in something that looked like sign language, but when both Emma and Mulan looked at her curiously, her gestures changed to something more simple and unstructured. Mulan nodded, understanding.

"She's right, you should get off the street. It may not yet be safe."

"Right," said Emma shifting her eyes between the ground and the two women before her. She started inching away, hoping they would stop trying to talk to her. Ariel noticed, and pulled on Mulan's arm. They both gave her cheerful waves leaving her with a "be safe".

_Holy shit, I'm going insane!_ She had just talked to Mulan and the little mermaid. She had literally just spoken to the cartoon characters that used to plague her television as a child. When she was younger, Emma had watched every single Disney movie, engrossed in the world of the princesses and their friends. She had seen the little mermaid a million times, having had to watch it with one of her foster sisters. And now, over twenty years later she had met the actual King Triton and Ariel and Prince Eric. Not just them, all of them. Her roommates, Snow White and Prince Charming had just called a meeting with King Midas, Sleeping Beauty and King Triton! Emma walked, shaking her head as if trying to shoot the idea out of her mind.

"Savior," called a voice.

Emma jumped, wide-eyed and came face to face with Lancelot. In his hand he held a heavy looking bag. He looked at her with concern.

"What?" Emma said, shifting uncomfortably to a different foot.

He shrugged, "I was just saying hello."

Emma avoided his eyes, "Yeah, well, I have to go." She shot off passed him, her shoulders hunched over.

"If you're looking to get away from everyone," he called after her. Emma turned around, "you should try the woods. Everyone's still kind of afraid of them."

"How did you-"

"You've got that 'startled deer' look in your eyes," he said waving his hand in front of his face.

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but instead just whipped around and headed straight into the first cluster of trees she could find. Who was she to argue with him. She probably did look like a deer in the headlights. It was just all too much. Fairytales could not be real. They didn't exist. Some storyteller sat down and decided to write about a woman who's stepmother was evil. That didn't mean that Snow White was real. It didn't mean she was Emma's mother. Emma closed her eyes in the semidarkness of the forest. She wished she could go back three days. Back to the time the world made sense. Mary Margaret was her roommate, Henry was just her troubled son, and Regina was not an evil queen, just a monster bitch. But that would be unfair to Henry. He had lived a world that didn't make any sense for ten years. For ten years, time did not move, no one aged but him, and his mother called him insane. No, Emma would just have to learn to deal. And she better start being careful what she wished for, now that magic was real too.

Emma thought back to all those wishes she had made as a kid. She would wait outside forever just for a glimpse of the first star the peeked through the dwindling sunshine. When she would find it she would scream her wish, to be found, in her head. Those few times she got a birthday cake, her foster parents would get frustrated with the amount of time she spent thinking of her wish. She had never really been thinking, because her wish was always the same. _I wish my parents would find me_. Sometimes she would ponder her wish so long, the candle wax would fall and stain the cake. Even when she grew harder her wish never changed. She hated her parents most of her life, but she still wanted them to find her. Or she wanted to find them. She wanted to know if they were dead, or alive and locked up, or in some insane asylum, or just horrible monsters. Whatever the answer she just needed to know.

Fairytales was not even on the list of crazy possibilities. What kind of world was this that fairytales existed. And what kind of sick bastard found out they were true and told the world's children about them, twisting their stories to fit some moral code. There was nothing morally right about this. Snow White and Prince Charming had tossed their child away, The Evil Queen had an entire town under her reign, Rumplestiltskin had people eating out of the palms of his hands, and Jiminy Cricket was not a fucking cricket!

Emma breathed deeply and charged forward. The radio crackled again, the static startling her, and Emma answered unconsciously, a million thoughts flying through her mind like cars on a highway. Was she insane? Was this all some kind of ridiculous dream? She wished the world would just for one second stop moving, give her time to catch up. She wondered suddenly what had gone through her parents minds when they placed her in the wardrobe. She couldn't even imagine but whatever it was it must have been horrible. What kind of selfish people put a baby in some crazy teleporter? Who would put a child in there by itself? Emma had grown out of Disney fast, believing that it was all crap and that happy endings didn't exist. She had still liked the characters well enough, equating them to a time when she could still feel hope. Now she hated them, she despised every single one of them, including Walt Disney for filling her head with their stories. Emma hated-

She cursed loudly as her foot hit a protruding root sending her crashing through a thorny bush and to the ground. She wiggled away from it, cutting her arms in the process and sat breathing deeply for a second. She had absolutely no idea where she was. Although she knew it could not have been that late, it was much darker in this stretch of forest. The trees were thicker and their foliage bigger. She must have walked miles, not even realizing it. Emma stood, grunting and stepped around the tree.

She immediately drew back with a gasp. The thick roots spiraled out from the trunk, on one side curling into more woods, on the other extending into the open air. A large rift in the earth formed a sloping trench some ten feet down, like a giant hand shovel had been swept across this area. Emma shook her head. Just how deep was she? She had to pay way more attention back here, she could have easily stepped right over the edge in her rage and confusion. Emma turned, ready to fight her way out, and stopped again.

Before her, two feet taller, stood a large horse. _There are horses in Storybrooke? _This one was dark, it's coat almost black with beady eyes. It stood, huffing loudly like it had just stopped running. Emma stood up straight and stared back. She smiled. It seemed like a friendly horse, almost…smart. Like he knew she wouldn't hurt him and maybe that she was just as scared as he seemed. He shifted, clamping down the earth with his heavy feet. Feeling surprisingly brave, Emma reached an arm out, inviting him to step closer. He did, slowly and with measured steps. Emma's eyes grew wide. He was amazing. His snout was warm, his hot breath tickling her arm. She played her fingers along the short hairs giggling. A sudden clam washed over her, like his presence was some sort go gift, a sign.

A low growl echoed through the trees. Emma jumped and looked around wildly. Just feet away, stood a wolf, not the one she had chased with Graham, but one with a dark brown coat and dangerous eyes. Emma took a step back and dropped her hand. The wolf growled again and then jumped from it's position behind them. The horse, reared back, kicking Emma in the chest with a sharp hoof. She gasped, not having enough time to scream and stumbled back. And the earth dropped off and she was falling. She hit the ground again, but at a sharp angle, falling to her back and then feeling her feet fly over her head. Emma lashed out, reaching for anything, clawing onto rocks only to have them pop out of the dirt and tumble down the slope with her. Every inch of her body was taking a beating. Especially her back. Emma held her eyes closed tightly. She didn't know which way was up or down, all she knew was fear and pain. Finally one of her feet hit a boulder and she was propelled up, into an awkward arching, standing position, only to fall the other way. Unable to get her arms out in enough time, Emma hit the ground again, her skull cracking on a cluster of three rocks. The world stopped.


	14. Cracks in the Wall

She could hear James come in after her, his booted footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. Snow turned her head away from him and continued to unbutton her shirt. He stopped and sat down on the chest at the foot of the bed.

"You okay?" he asked. His voice was soft. She closed her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said simply. That could not be further from the truth. She felt her hard exterior cracking, a well of emotions rising to the surface. As much as she refuted him, King Triton was right, everything was her fault. All of the miserable lives, the dead Huntsman, what happened to her grandson and most of all her daughter, she was to blame for it all.

"Talk to me, Snow."

She huffed, "I don't need to talk. I said I'm fine."

He paused for a second. "You're mad at me." No question.

Snow stood up and pulled her shirt off, throwing it onto the bed. She turned to the dresser and found the drawer with her T-shirts. "I'm not mad at you, James. I'm just tired."

"James," he said, running his tongue over the name, pondering it. "If you weren't mad, you wouldn't have called me that."

She rolled her eyes pulling the shirt over her head. "Don't overanalyze." She hated when he did that. He was usually right on the money. Twenty-eight years apart and he still noticed things she hadn't even done on purpose, things she didn't even understand. He and Dr. Hopper would get on well, she thought.

"Is it Emma?" he said quietly. She sighed. Of course it was. "Because I think we should make her come downstairs and talk to us."

Snow snatched her blouse off the bed and walked it passed James and to the hamper in the corner. "I'm fine," she repeated. "And you can't make Emma do anything; she'll just resent you."

Tossing the shirt in with the other dirty clothes, she closed the lid and walked through the curtain and into the kitchen. James followed, still talking.

"Well, we can't let it go on like this forever."

She raised her eyebrows, still not looking at him and pulled a yogurt from the fridge. She sat down at the counter and pulled the plate of deviled eggs closer. They hadn't really been touched, which was fine. She and Henry liked them well enough.

"Nothing goes on forever, James," she muttered.

He sighed and moved his head, leaning into the counter, he tried to grab her attention.

"Why don't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

A little crack in her wall started leaking, "You know I don't need you to rescue me. I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

It had been ridiculous, the little show of brawn James had had with Triton. She could take insults, she'd had to do it for most of her life. Most recently, she'd had to manage being called tramp. And even as pathetic Mary Margaret, she'd eventually gotten over that. If it had really been her, she would have snuffed it out as soon as it had happened. She could very well defend herself and she didn't appreciate him swooping in, puffing out his chest like he was preparing for a duel.

"What?" he said.

Snow shook her head, but before he could speak again, Emma came trotting down the stairs and stopped. Snow turned, remembering that Emma had wanted to say something the last time she had come down the stairs. But this time she just gave them an empty look.

"I'm going for a walk. Henry's asleep," she said and left promptly.

Snow had to take a moment to compose herself before turning back to James. Everything was hell and she didn't know if she could take it anymore.

"I'm going to start dinner," she said jumping off the stool.

* * *

Almost two hours later found Snow poking a fork into a still steaming meatloaf and James walking back and forth across the living room. They had not spoken since Emma had left and James had long ago given up trying to find out what was wrong with her. Instead her took to pacing, which was annoying the living hell out of Snow.

"You're boring ruts into my floor," she said monotonously.

He stopped and strode over to the counter, his eyes on the clock.

"She should be back by now."

"I'm sure she's fine," said Snow. She turned on the faucet and ran her hands under it. James couldn't see them shaking, but Snow was just as nervous as he was. Except while his nerves required immediate action, her's came with a numbness that still let her see at least partially clearly. She supposed that must be the Mary Margaret. She was really an action type of person like James.

He tapped his finger anxiously on the counter. She did feel bad for him, she did. She wanted to run out into the night searching for her daughter too, but she couldn't help but feel annoyed with him. She wasn't sure where it was coming from, if it was just un-dealt with feelings turning into fire, or if there was really something bothering her about him. Snow kept her eyes averted, not wanting him to see frustration.

James slapped his hands down on the counter, "Alright, I'm going to look for her."

"Oh, no you're not," she said drying her hands off. "I'll go."

"Snow, something could have happened-"

"And you don't think I'm capable of helping her?" she said, her tone snarky.

He gaped at her. "I did not say that. I just-"

"She's fine, James," she said cutting him off again. "And I don't want you going out there scaring her off."

James lifted his arms and dropped them in defeat. "How would I scare her off?!"

"She's probably on her way home right now, and you running out there chasing her down, is not going to help anyone."

James crossed his arms defensively. "I'm her father. I should be out there, right now, looking for her. I should be bringing her home. She's my daughter!"

"She's my daughter, too!" Snow snapped, her voice louder than she had intended, but full of passion and finally exposing her anger. "Keep an eye on Henry."

And with that she marched out of the apartment slamming the door behind her. She almost did not want to admit it, but it felt good. Back in their castle, a lifetime ago, when she got frustrated with him she could never have done that. The double doors to their bedroom were too heavy, and she often wondered if they were actually made of gold. Slamming one would take an enormous effort and make her look silly, as would closing one and leaving the other open. And here in the apartment she had no bedroom door to slam, just the white sheet that billowed when she untied the string around it-not in anyway dramatic. Besides, if she did swing the sheet closed she would have no where to go anyway. The apartment was just too small. But that slam had been satisfying, releasing a little bit of the rippling tension in her shoulders.

She made her way down the stairs and out onto the cold street. Immediately she regretted storming out. She should have brought a jacket. Deciding that freezing to death was the better option than going back and having to deal with him, she marched forward out onto the main street.

Truth was she was terrified something had happened to Emma. Or even worse, Emma had left. Snow pushed that thought out right away. Emma would not have left without Henry. She could find some small comfort in that, but Emma was also not one to take two hour walks; she got bored too easily doing one thing. It was why being sheriff suited her. Everyday people called in with different requests and while Emma used to come home complaining that all of Storybrooke's problems were ridiculously trivial, Snow knew Emma truly enjoyed the variety of it. Or Mary Margaret knew. Snow shook her head; she was getting tired of not knowing how to refer to herself. There was the past where she was Mary Margaret and then there was _more_ in the past when she was Snow. It was infuriating not knowing.

She wondered if David had felt the same way, but again pushed the thought away. She did not want to think about David and all the misery he'd caused her. Maybe that was why she was truly mad; she couldn't help but see David when she looked into her husband's face. And Snow wanted to beat the crap out of David. For all the times she couldn't do it as Mary Margaret, for all the times she had turned the other cheek instead of putting an end to all of his shit. It wasn't fair, and she knew it, associating James and David, but just as Mary Margaret had been a part of her, David must have been somewhere in her Charming. She hated thinking it, but at any moment, David could return leaving her falling, and now was not a time she when she would be able to pick herself up. Now she just needed her sturdy husband, and she was not sure she had him.

"Snow," someone called. "What are you doing out here?"

Red approached her from across the street. Snow smiled at her friend and held her arms out for a hug. She was so warm Snow just wanted to bury into her.

"I was just looking for Emma. Have you seen her?" She tried to be nonchalant about it.

Red shook her head, her black eyes looking down the street. "No. I was just heading to the diner; Granny thinks she's left something."

"Oh, how is she," Snow asked digging her hands into her pockets. They were freezing.

"Dealing," Red shrugged. "What else is there to do?" Snow nodded.

As if finally seeing the shivers of Snow's body, Red sighed and shrugged off her coat.

"Why don't you have a jacket?" she said, forcing Snow to take it.

She wanted to refuse it, but seeing that Red had on a sweater underneath, Snow pulled it over her arms. It was pretty thin, but still, the heat Red had stored in it soothed Snow's chilled bones.

"I left kind of quickly," she answered rolling her eyes. "James was ready to march out here, I had to hold him back."

Red gave her a sympathetic nod and a sly grin. "Where did she go?"

"Just for a walk. She's been gone awhile, but she's probably on her way back."

"You want help looking?"

Snow declined automatically but Red insisted, refusing to listen and taking off down the street without her. Snow jogged to catch up and soon they walked in silence, cold wisps coming out of their mouths. Red glanced over at Snow.

"You're worried," she observed.

Snow shook her head, despite the increasing panic. "No. I'm sure she's fine. James has a tendency to overreact."

"Snow," said Red drawing Snow's eyes up, "I can practically smell the fear on you."

"Well, you shouldn't do that," Snow snapped, and she immediately regretted it. Red did not deserve any of her fury. "I'm sorry for that."

But Red just smiled at her, the wheels in her mind churning. "I take it everything's not going too well at home."

Again, Snow shook her head. "We're fine."

"Yeah, you keep saying that, but you're not a very good liar, Snow White."

Snow smiled despite herself. No, she was never a very good liar. Snow remembered how hard it was for her to keep the secret of her identity from Red. They had become friends quickly and the information had just been bursting out of her.

"Out with it," Red demanded as they turned down a corner.

Snow sighed, "I don't know. It's everything I guess. It's just a lot to handle. Everything with James and what we went through. I feel horrible every time I look at Henry; he kept trying to tell me-"

"He tried to tell us all. None of us listened."

"I know, but I just feel like I should have gotten it. And then there's Emma who-"

"This way," Red shouted suddenly grabbing on her arm and pulling her into the woods.

Snow followed Red into the trees noticing that they were not on any designated path. "How do you know she went this way?"

"I can smell her," Red breathed in deeply and nodded, more to herself than to Snow.

"You can?" Snow followed Red deeper into the woods, wondering why Emma would come into the trees knowing that the sun was setting. She wasn't one to purposely put herself in trouble.

"Yeah," said Red finally slowing down and resuming their brisk pace. "She smells like you, you know."

Snow looked over at Red and shared a smile. If it wasn't so dark, Red would have seen the crimson coloring her cheeks. That little revelation made her happier than she had been all day. She daughter smelled like her. In any other context, that may have been weird, but for now Snow wanted to bathe in the thought.

"So, what about you?" Snow finally asked Red.

Her friend shrugged and kept her eyes forward. "I'm okay I guess."

"Have you found your cloak?" Snow asked. She couldn't even imagine the fear Red must have been feeling.

"No," she answered solemnly. "Granny and I think we charted it out pretty well, it's hard to tell, but I think I should be okay for the next day or two."

Snow took Red's hand and squeezed it. They both looked into the sky, happy that it was turning out to be such a cloudy night. The woods were almost black and Snow realized that the only way they were able to know where they were going was Red's heightened senses.

"Magic is different here, so maybe it won't happen-" Snow crashed directly into her friend's pencil straight back.

"Snow," said Red, her nose high in the air.

"What's wrong?"

But she didn't get an answer. Instead Red took off into the forest, speeding through the low handing branches and over the raised roots and shrubs. Snow ran after her, keeping her in sight.

"Her scent is really strong!" Red yelled ahead of her. Snow had no idea why that made Red run, but she stayed close behind. As they jumped through a thicket of bushes Red threw her arm out catching Snow in the stomach. She panted heavily, it felt like they had run forever. Opening her eyes Snow jumped a bit. They were standing at the edge of huge trench. If it had been deeper, Snow was sure there would have been a river running through it, but as it was, it was littered with rocks and large boulders, bushes and vines hanging down into it. It seemed to run the length of the entire forest.

Red lowered herself to her butt and slowly slid herself down into it, using the jutting rocks to help slow her descent. Confused, Snow followed after her, jumping to the ground as Red ran ahead.

"Oh my gods, Snow!" she called.

Snow ran over and stood beside her. She followed Red's gaze down and saw a heavy puddle of dark liquid staining a cluster of sharp rocks. Panic reached up and strangled her throat.

"It's blood. It's Emma's."

Behind them, a staticy crackled filled the air making them jump.

"Emma, Emma, come in," said Henry's voice. Snow searched the dark dirt and finally spotted one of the walkie talkies Emma and Henry used.

"Emma, please answer," he sounded so frightened. "YOU HAVE TO ANSWER!"

Snow found the big button on the side and pressed down on it.

"Henry?"

His answer came quickly, "Who is this?"

"It's Snow," she said into the little box.

"Why are you there? Where's Emma?"

Snow bit her lip. His little voice full of panic and terror adding a voice to everything she was feeling.

"She's with me," she lied. "She got a little lost and dropped her radio along the way. She asked me to help her look. I'll have her radio you back in just a minute."

The silence over the radio was deafening. She wondered if Henry had bought her lie, which she immediately knew was wrong. He was too smart for that, which meant he was now in a full blown state of panic. _Great Snow._

Red called to her, holding a gloved hand out. Snow took it and let her friend drag her through the trench. It felt like they walked a mile when they finally came across a dark shadow seated on a rock.

"Emma!" Snow yelled, dropping Red's hand and running for her daughter.

Emma looked up at the sound of her name. Snow neared her and sniffed in the iron-tinted smell of blood. Emma had taken off her top shirt and pressed it to her head, the blood turning the blue fabric dark red. Snow reached for it, but Emma moved, signaling she did not want to be touched.

"What happened?" she asked taking in the obvious goosebumps crawling up her daughter's arm.

Emma pulled the shirt away and Snow groaned. It was a huge gash from the top of her hairline down to the corner of Emma's eyes.

"Nothing. I fell," Emma said.

"We saw all the blood back there," said Ruby, taking in the wound. "Doesn't look good. How did you get all the way down here?"

Emma shrugged, "Got tossed around. Wasn't sure which way was right, so I chose one and stuck with it."

"Oh, Emma," said Snow reaching for the stained shirt.

"Stop it, I'm fine," Emma complained and again wriggled out of reach.

"Seems to be a common theme tonight," commented Red, her eyebrows raised high.

"Emma, please," begged Snow, she touched Emma's shoulder but jumped when Emma scurried off of the boulder and skirted around her.

"I said, stop."

Snow stared at her. "I'm only trying to help."

"I don't need your help," was her immediate answer. "Is that my radio?"

Snow glanced down at her hand, realizing she still had it. She brought it up and Emma snatched it out of her grasp bringing it to her lips.

"This is Emma. Henry come in."

Henry responded immediately. "Emma where have you been!"

"I'm sorry, kid. I got lost, dropped the radio," she said. At least their stories corroborated.

"Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back now," said Emma avoiding the question. She waited for his answer as Snow had done and when it didn't come she tossed her head back with a moan. "Shit!"

Emma dropped her hands and clipped the radio to her belt, the bloody shirt dangling between her fingers. Snow reached for the zipper of Red's jacket.

"Here," she said pulling it down, "you should take this. You look cold."

"I don't need your jacket," Emma snapped.

Snow stepped back like she had been slapped in the face. She remembered the feeling of Kathryn's hand against her cheek and felt that Emma had hit her ten times harder. She was doing nothing wrong, just trying to help. She didn't deserve Emma's attitude. All the frustration of the last couple days welled up inside Snow and she felt her reserves about to burst.

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong, Emma, because I'm tired of dancing around you."

She knew what was wrong. Emma didn't like her, didn't trust her. Emma didn't want her, but Snow refused to believe it. Emma was hard, but not that hard.

Her reaction just infuriated Snow. Emma laughed, without humor and shook her head, turning away.

"I asked you what was wrong," she repeated, stepping forward. "I'm trying my best to be helpful."

"Well, I didn't ask for your help, so just stop," Emma ordered, spinning around and looking at Snow fiercely.

Snow returned the hard stare. "No, I won't stop-"

"Don't act as if you care now," Emma rolled her eyes.

"It's not an act, Emma," Snow pushed, closing more of the distance between them. "I have always cared."

"Of course you have," she sneered back.

"I don't understand-"

"_You_ don't understand? How about I don't understand how you can stand there and smile and pretend that everything is okay."

"I'm doing no such thing." Yes, yes she was. It was exactly what she had been doing for the last two days and she hated that Emma had called her out on it. "I know we have issues to-"

Emma laughed dryly again, "Oh, yeah do we have issues. So what? You want us to sit down and hug and just air it all out and go frolicking into fields of flowers?"

"Of course not," said Snow waving her hand in the air. "I just want to know what you're feeling. I want to work together-"

"You want to know what I'm feeling?" asked Emma. She suddenly approached Snow, walking straight into her face until they were inches apart. Snow wondered if Emma had ever done this to anyone before, attempting to intimidate them. It must have worked because the cold, mechanical look Emma was bestowing on her now made the whole forest turn pitch black.

"I don't care what you have to say," she growled. "I don't want you. I don't need you. I don't like you. Is that what you wanted to hear, _mom_?"

Hearing the name was like being dumped in a vat of ice water. Snow's blood stilled and her vision blurred. Emma was stubborn, tough and inflexible, but she was never cruel. She never said things to purposely hurt people, and that heartlessness was enough to set Snow's anger flaring. As Emma walked away, Snow found herself stomping forward.

"You liked me well enough two days ago," she yelled after her. "I know you're pissed, but that doesn't change how I feel-"

"Tell me how you feel!" Emma yelled back. "Do you love me? Do you care? I don't want to hear your lies-"

"I DO love you!" Snow said back, tired of being interrupted.

"NO, YOU DON'T!," Emma roared, her fingers coming up to point directly into Snow's face. "You have never loved me! You abandoned me!"

"I did what I had to do!" Snow cried. "I did what was best for you!"

What Snow could only describe as pure fury shone through Emma's eyes. "You did what was best for _you_! You dumped me off in the middle of a fucking freeway and the only reason you did that was so that could come back and save you and your precious prince!"

"THAT IS NOT TRUE!" Snow stormed back. "I _had_ to put you in that wardrobe. I had no choice!"

They were both screaming now, their shrill voices bouncing off the trees and reverberating as echoes through the dark forest. "Yes, you did have a choice. You could have come with me, but you didn't. You handed off _your_ job to a seven year old-"

"What?!" Now Emma was just spewing out crap.

"And guess what? August left me too, but I guess you're plan worked out in the end, didn't it? I came back. I saved you!"

"What the hell does August-"

"Pinocchio! Whatever the hell his name is!" screamed Emma throwing up her arms. "What kind of mother does that? And then you just lied to me! You made me trust you!"

Snow was stunned. Was Emma talking about Mary Margaret? "You blame me for not knowing who I was? You blame me for the curse!"

"Sounds to me like it was your fault in the first place-"

"I DON'T CARE WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE!" Snow was beside herself now. "I'm sorry it didn't work out. I'm sorry you didn't get the life you deserved, but everything I did was for you!"

"You didn't give two shits about me!"

"SNOW!"

Snow whirled around, forgetting that Red was even still there. She turned, ready to rip her friend's head off, but stopped when she saw the look on Red's face. Her dark eyes shone a brilliant gold in the moonlight-_moonlight_. Snow's head snapped up and she blanched, realizing that the moon had indeed come out behind the clouds, bright, big and full.

"Emma, run," she commanded, running over to Red's side and grasping her doubled-over friend's shoulders. "Red, you're okay."

"No," Red moaned. "I'm changing. I need my cloak!"

"No, it's okay. Just sit down," she said, pushing Red to the floor. She turned to see Emma still standing there, blood dripping from her head and eyeing Red strangely. "Emma, go!"

"Snow, you have to run!" Red shouted. "I think I can hold it off, but you have to go now!"

"Everything's going to be okay," Snow shouted back. She didn't even know what she was saying. All she could think was that Emma was covered in blood, and if Red changed in her presense…

"Emma, please go!" she urged. But Emma still didn't listen. She was watching Red's curling body, her face morphing into one of fear and shock.

Red let out a scream that blended halfway into a deep howl, the moon absorbing it's sound.

"EMMA, RUN!"

Finally she listened and took off, her blonde hair disappearing through a heavy collection of bushes. Snow turned and stepped back, watching the hairs on Red's body extend and thicken. She hadn't seen the transformation in over twenty years, but every detail was terrifying.


	15. Timing

Chapter 15: Timing

Henry sat up in a panic. His heart was throwing itself against his ribcage and he could hardly catch his breath. Realizing he was still in Emma's bedroom, he dropped his tensed shoulders and unraveled from his frightened cat posture. He breathed deeply, eyes closed, reminding himself that he was okay. However, that was not the reason he had jumped awake. Henry looked around the room; it was darker now, the sun fully behind the trees, but enough rays splayed out to give him their dying illumination. Nothing in the room seemed out of place either. Still feeling that something was wrong, Henry glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Neon green lines glared at him. It was a little past seven thirty. _That's weird,_ he thought. The last time he had glanced over it had been about fifteen minutes to six. Henry shifted in the bed and felt something heavy weighing on his legs. His book was open and flipped up, as if he had just been reading it, which he had. When Emma left, Henry pulled the book out and flipped through its pages, deciding to try out listening to what she told him to do. He sat for a while, looking for the pictures of the Kings he had just met. He had radioed Emma just before he picked it up to read Princess Abigail's story again, and closed his eyes for just a-

_EMMA!_ Henry grabbed the clock and brought it to his face dramatically. It was almost eight! He was sure he had just called her but if he had fallen asleep….She should have been back by now. Henry scrambled from the bed, crashing to the floor when his foot got caught in the grip of a thick blanket. His hand had hit the nightstand during his fall, knocking over a tiny bird statue and the radio. Henry reached out and snatched it back, pressing his thumb down on the big side button.

"This is Henry," he said into it. He waited, the static disappearing and traveling through the air to send Emma the message.

"Emma, this is Henry," he repeated pushing down on the button harder.

Henry tried to calm down. Emma probably couldn't hear it. Maybe she was talking to someone and couldn't answer him right now. He untangled his foot from the sheet and stood up, sliding the clock to the edge of the nightstand. He would give her a full minute. The seconds dragged by like an entire day. For a moment he feared time had stopped again. He glared at it, almost ready to chuck the thing at the wall when the last eight flashed into a nine. Hurriedly he brought the box to his lips.

"Emma, this is Henry," he repeated sternly. Why wasn't she answering? Hadn't it been her rule that they communicate every seven mintues?

"Answer the walkie, Emma." Silence.

Maybe she was lost in her thoughts. Emma often did that, like when she pulled him into the forest, barely noticing that he was still with her. He just needed something to pull her out of her own head.

"If you don't answer I'm going to tell Snow and Charming to come looking for you," he warned. She wouldn't want that. Getting away had been the entire purpose of the walk.

Another minute ticked by on the clock, like a cruel taunt, time seemed to speed up suddenly, putting her out in the world for even longer. He was really starting to freak out now. Nothing could have happened to her, right?

"Emma. Emma, come in," he was begging now. "YOU HAVE TO ANSWER!"

White noise filled the room as the radio crackled. He sighed with relief.

"Henry?"

He paused and eyed the radio in his hand. That wasn't Emma's voice. The panic took over again, stirring his brain. He asked who it was. His grandmother's voice answered her own name back.

"Why are you there? Where's Emma?"

She muttered something about being lost and dropping the radio. Now Henry's brain was really going nuts. Snow was not a good liar, she seriously could have come up with something better than that.

Henry jumped from the bed and lunged for the door. He dove down the stairs, screaming Charming's name, the radio still tightly in his hand.

"Henry, what's wrong?" asked Charming running from his bedroom.

"There's something wrong! We have to find Emma!" he was shaking now, his words coming out in little gasps.

"How do you know?" his grandfather asked.

Henry lifted the radio, shaking it violently. "She told me to call her, but I fell asleep she's not answering and Snow answered but she's lying they're not lost because she's not with Emma and it's all my fault she told me to call her!" He barely breathed, rambling out his incoherent thoughts.

If anything was wrong he would be to blame. He would have known sooner if he had just stayed awake like he vowed to. Charming dropped down to his knees and clamped down on Henry's arms.

"Breathe," he instructed, but it didn't help when he could see the fear in his grandfather's sky blue eyes. "We'll find them. Come on."

They threw on shoes and jackets, Henry pulling out the flashlights he knew Mary Margaret had in the closet and they ran out of the door. It was way colder than it had been that morning and Henry wished he had thrown on his scarf. She followed Charming down the street, stretching his legs to make up for his grandfather's long strides. Storybrooke was fast growing dark, now only lit by the straggling rays of lights and the brightening street lamps. It was not aided by the heavy clouds in the sky. The world was especially quiet now. Their little town was empty, devoid of any human life, at least as far as Henry could see. He kept close to Charming, feeling terrified and paranoid just from being out exposed out here.

"Henry," the radio spoke making both Charming and Henry jumped. "This is Emma."

Henry dug it out of his pocket quickly and yelled, "Emma, where have you been?"

"Got lost," she said. "Dropped the radio."

Another lie. Like mother, like daughter, he thought. When were they going to learn that he was a lot smarter than he may have looked? When was everyone in this town going to realize it?

"Where are they?" Charming asked his arms at his side, but in a position to take off running. Henry repeated the question into the speaker.

"I'm on my way right now," said Emma. So wherever they were it was not good. At least she and Snow were together, he thought.

Charming rolled his eyes and huffed. "Give me the radio," he said, holding his hand out impatiently.

Henry shook his head and put it in his pocket, dejectedly. "Don't bother. Emma's not going to answer."

He started off down the street, feeling his grandfather's eyes on him. He had promised Emma nothing bad was going to happen. He had purposely told her to go on her walk, thinking they both needed some time alone, assuring her that everything was fine and she was overreacting. And now they were out there looking for her and she was lying to him which meant something really bad had happened. Henry gulped, swallowing down his cries.

Charming stepped before him and crouched down, stopping Henry in his tracks. His grandfather brought up a hand and silently ran a rough thumb pad against his cheek.

"I know you're scared," said Charming. "But we will find them. We will always find them."

He said that last part with a sly smile as if knowing Henry would recognize the phrase. He did, having read it countless times in his storybook, and couldn't help but smile a little too. Taking a deep breath, Henry nodded.

Charming stood and wrapped an arm around Henry's shoulders, pulling him along down the street.

"It's not supposed to be like this," Henry heard Charming murmur.

He could say that again. It was not supposed to be this way at all. Emma was supposed to find her parents and be happy, but she was angry and confused and just reticent. Snow and Charming were supposed to be reunited, but Henry could feel the tension and stress every time they looked at each other. Henry was supposed to be enjoying his new family, his _real_ family, but for one reason he kept finding himself having thoughts of Regina and where she was and what she was doing. He could not get her sad, dark eyes eyes out of the back of his mind. Everyone was supposed to be living their happily-ever-afters, but everything had just turned out far worse. They were trapped in Storybrooke, no one truly knowing what to do.

As the two made their way down the street they came across a dark shadow before them. Charming's arm tensed around Henry's shoulder and he found himself pressed into his grandfather's hip. But as they neared, the grip lessened.

"Dopey?" Charming called out. "What are you doing out here?"

Stepping into the lamplight came a man, only a bit taller than Henry, a goofy smile playing on his lips. He wore a faded purple beanie. His clothes hung on him loosely and torn, layered in a heavy coat of grime and dirt. But the man seemed to care for none of this because he came forward and gave Henry a big hug, which Henry returned awkwardly. Dopey was always one of his favorite Dwarves, but Henry was just not in a mood playful enough to enjoy his grandparent's friend.

"Have you seen Snow or Emma?" Charming asked pulling out of Dopey's strong embrace.

The dwarf nodded enthusiastically, spinning around and pointing into a thicket of trees just at the end of the street. Charming's face contorted clearly thinking the same thing as Henry. _The woods, really?_ Setting his features, Charming clasped a strong hand on Dopey's shoulder and turned the dwarf to face him.

"Go home to your brothers, Dopey," Charming told him. Dopey gave them both one last grin and a tiny laugh before parading down the street behind him.

Henry turned and watched him go until his back rounded a dark corner. "Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Of course," answered Charming, replacing his arm on his grandson's shoulders. "Dopey's a lot smarter than people give him credit for."

Henry nodded quietly, observing the sternness in Charming's voice. Henry hadn't really known David, but he knew enough to know this was not the same unsure man. His grandfather knew what he was doing and when he was doing it. Every sentence he spoke had a precision and an immediacy to it. Henry was entranced, especially at the Kings' meeting when his grandfather had taken charge; not begging the kings for their help, Prince Charming had never been a beggar, but requesting with grace and power.

They approached the line of the woods quickly, Charming moving his arm to take Henry's hand in his own. It was actually pitch black, so dark even the forest sounds could not pierce through. Henry felt the bubbling anxiety roiling in his heart, but he swallowed it down. He had to find Emma no matter what.

"Why would they have come in here?" Charming asked.

Though Henry suspected he had not been looking for an answer, Henry replied either way, "I can see Emma doing it. It's where she dragged me off last time. I guess she tends to do that."

"Well, it's dangerous," Charming reasoned. "I shouldn't have let her come out here alone. Either of them."

Henry nodded, agreeing but said, "I don't think that would have helped. Emma would have been mad at you for trying to stop her. Snow too."

Charming stepped over a thick root, holding Henry's hand tighter to help him over. "I just don't know what we're going to do with her."

"You could ground her," quipped Henry.

Charming scoffed out a laugh, probably imagining a grounded Emma. That would not go over well. Though she insisted Henry follow rules closely, he could picture a supposed "grounded" Emma sneaking out and doing whatever she pleased. He laughed internally, sticking out his hand to stop a low hanging branch from slapping his face.

A high- pitched scream pierced the night air. Henry and Charming both froze, forgetting the world around them, the sound bouncing to each of their ears. Another scream, this one louder, had Henry's body trembling. Charming clutched on to Henry's hand and dragged him further into the deep, hollow, darkness of the woods. Henry pushed a thought straight out of his head. He did not want to think about whether the scream had belonged to his grandmother or mother.


	16. Running

**A/N: When I write emotional scenes or intense action I write to music. If you want to get an idea of what I was feeling when I wrote this listen to "Protectors of the Earth"- Two Steps from Hell and "Guardians at the Gate"- Audiomachine on a loop.**

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Guilt was a bitch-not just any bitch either. The kind that stops you in your tracks to slap you in your face, harder than any other any other emotion. When Ruby had fallen to the floor, writhing and moaning in pain, Emma felt the growing apprehension grasping at her. She grew confused when Ruby started talking about changing. Changing what? But nothing had terrified Emma more than hearing the town waitress scream like she was being lit on fire and then howl- a deep, animalistic sound that turned Emma's entire body to ice. All she heard was "run" and she had listened. She had charged from the scene, her arms bleeding from the cuts of brambles and thorny vines.

Emma ran so fast her feet barely touched down on the soft dirt. That is, until her brain caught up with her body, screaming madly that she had forgotten something. Emma slowed down, skidding to a stop, the blood in her ears pumping hot and thick, clouding the noises of the night. She looked around, more shaking her head wildly than seeing anything. What did she forget?

Like an answer from the universe, a ringing howl slashed through the trees, setting Emma's fast beating heart on fire. That was when guilt hit her, like a bat come swinging from the darkness. She'd hauled ass as soon as she heard that wail, but in her haste she forgot Mary Margaret. She forgot her best friend in the shady blackness of a lonely forest.

"MARY MARGARET!" Emma roared. The tears were coming and she feared she could do nothing about them. How could she have just run away?

The universe was seriously giving her special privilege because just then Mary Margaret- _Snow-_ came crashing through the low branches and knocked right into Emma, practically tackling them both to the ground. But she did not stop her momentum for a second. Snow clawed onto Emma's arm and yanked her along, still in the rocky bed of the trench.

Their breathing was all Emma could hear. It came out in huffs and pants, an occasional gasp when they jumped, like hurdlers, over boulders. Emma kept her other arm up, brushing away the vines that Snow was blowing through. A stitch was forming in Emma's side but she did not have time to even think about it. Suddenly Snow changed directions, forcibly jerking Emma to the right, to the vertical wall of the trench.

"Come on," she panted, squatting down and interlocking her finger. She trained her eyes on Emma expectantly.

"What?" Emma gasped, staring down at her.

Snow lashed out and grabbed Emma, bringing them face to face. She squatted again, picking up one of Emma's leg and placing it in her hand.

"Come on, Emma. We don't have time for this!" she yelled at her.

Too baffled to think, Emma placed her foot down in Snow's hand and felt herself launched into the air. Her passing thought was of Snow cheerleading, but she had no time to form the mental image, as the ledge of the trench came into view. Using all her upper body strength, Emma hauled herself over, scratching her stomach on the gritty earth. She crawled, turning herself around and dangled her chest over the edge, holding her arms out.

Another howl, almost on top of them, ran down their spines.

"Emma, go!" yelled Snow waving her away.

"Come on," Emma screamed. No way was she leaving her again. She shouldn't have taken off the first time. Emma pushed herself further off the ledge, threatening her roommate with a stern face. Still Snow shook her head and yelled at Emma to run. "Snow!"

Finally, Snow backed up and ran to towards Emma, catching her foot on a jagged rock and propelling herself up. Emma grabbed her sweaty palms and heaved, groaning with the weight. After an enormous effort, Emma pulled Snow on top of her and they rolled away, panting heavily.

"Get up," Snow demanded immediately.

Snow in the lead, she and Emma tore through the forest, their feet kicking up high to the avoid the roots and fallen trees. Emma's blood pumped like a horse's- a strong current running through her veins. Absolutely every muscle in her body throbbed, but Emma pushed forward. They were being chased by…something. Emma wasn't even sure what they were running from, yet she ran like hell, a crippling fear overtaking her body like the wet, crimson blood streaming from her hairline.

The trees and branches crashed and whooshed, raising a ruckus as they sped through. In the blurring shadow of the trees Emma saw Snow's dark head pumping ahead of her. She had to be honest, Snow was really impressing Emma. Emma had always found herself surprised by Mary Margaret's athletic abilities, wondering how she had been able to get so far when she had escaped from jail and especially when Mary Margaret had "Sparta-kicked" Jefferson out of a window and now as she sprinted, full speed, through dimly starlit forest. While Emma ran, head down, looking for all the possible obstructions in her path, Snow ran nimbly, her feet knowing exactly where to fall.

Emma yelped, her foot catching and twisting on a rock. For the third time she fell to the ground. This time, however, she was able to throw her arms out, preventing most of the damage. Snow ran ahead a couple of feet before turning around. She moved to run back and stopped, eyes growing like an owls' in the distance. A low growling rippled through Emma's body. Crouched on the ground, Emma turned around slowly and found herself almost ten feet away from a wolf bigger than she had ever imagined and twice as terrifying than the one that had attacked earlier.

This wolf had bristling hairs that stood on end like the spines of a porcupine. It's teeth glowed in the blue-ish light of the stars, white foam and saliva dripping from the spikes of its canines. The eyes were the worst. Dark and hollow, but the shape of a human's, Emma could see the blood thirst. She tried to breathe but it was impossible. Time had slowed down, and as the wolf crouched low, the muscles in its hind legs pulsing, Emma's gasped and leaned back as if that could save her. The wolf lunged, Emma heard a shout of "Red, NO!", and right before the animal's extended claws came inches from Emma, Snow jumped forward and rammed the wolf, causing both to tumble feet away from Emma.

Snow screamed as her body intertwined with the ravaging wolf's. Emma's brain went into hyper-drive. Without thinking, Emma scrambled to her feet and found a branch about as long as her legs; it was thick and lined with smaller branches, weighed down by leaves. Snow screamed again, her voice crying out in pain. Emma heaved the branch over her shoulder, like the sword she had held in her hand days ago. She swung it around with the force of a professional baseball player, catching the wolf in the side. It sailed away from a cowering Snow, howling its fury, before it reared back on its heels. It lunged again, but Emma could not bring the branch up fast enough. She was knocked back, all the air leaving her lungs, and was pinned down by the heavy pads of the wolf's front legs. This was how she was going to die. With a great breath, the wolf bared its mouthful of canine's roaring out, centimeters from Emma's face. And Emma just watched, eyes glued open by the overpowering fear. She watched it pick its head up, train its dark eyes into her own, and its head snapped forward.

"RED!" Snow shrieked her voice her high it broke. "PETER!"

The wolf froze, its teeth grazing the soft flesh of Emma's skin. In horror, Emma watched the dark gold eyes shrink into the human eyes of Ruby. Still crushing Emma's chest, it swung its head around and stared sadly at Snow, who was still lying on the ground.

Another growl filled the silence around them, but it had not come from Red. Emma had just enough time to turn her head and see the same chocolate brown wolf from earlier baring its teeth at Red. The two wolves locked eyes and the night was infused with the malicious roars of both. Red lunged at the smaller wolf and the trees exploded, giving in to the weight of the battling wolves.

Emma lay, flat on her back, cowering and shaking like paper by a fan. Snow's face broke her line of vision. She was yelling something, but Emma could not hear her, she could barely see her, Emma's vision growing darker and her head whirling. Emma was not even sure she wanted to fight her unconsciousness, but Snow would not let her. She felt powerful hands grip her face.

"Listen to me!" Snow ordered. "Emma, get up now!"

Mechanically, Emma listened, sitting up enough to let Snow pull her to her feet. And then they were running again and Emma's body was keeping up. The trees, the roots, the darkness, it all meant nothing now. Emma sprinted without reservation, her arms and legs pumping. If she could only run faster, she could escape the hollow yelps and shrieks of the animals brawling feet behind her. If she could only push herself further, maybe she could outrun time, and return to the world where everything made sense. If she could only run faster…

She realized Snow was falling slowly behind. Emma turned in time to see a sharp wince, plague Snow's face. Emma glanced over her roommates body and stopped.

"You're bleeding!" Emma gasped. She had totally forgotten that they were running for their lives. Snow's bottom right leg was drenched in warm blood.

Snow pushed Emma on, telling her to forget it.

"No, you're hurt," said Emma, stupidly, reaching to look at the injury. Again, she was stopped by Snow's hands.

"Emma-"

Another howl, victorious and proud, cut her off. Someone had won. Taking her hand, Snow pulled Emma along behind her. They were miles deep into the forest and Emma wondered if they would ever get to stop running when they saw light. Without words, Snow and Emma acknowledged that they both saw them, it was not a trick of the moonlight, they were close to town. Together they sprinted the last stretch. Emma had long stopped breathing. There wasn't enough air in all of Storybrooke to maintain her body now. The blackness at the edge of her eyes was returning. Images flashed in her mind: dragons, apples, wolves, teeth, a glittering dust storm, an egg, Henry white and dead, a dragon, apple, wolves, teeth…

She pushed harder, just wanting to make it to civilization, to make it to the lights. A large overturned tree stood in their path but Snow and Emma took it in stride. Using their hands to lift their feet off the ground, they both threw their bodies over the trunk and to the other side where they dashed through another line of trees and onto one of the walking paths, crashing into two bodies.

Emma and Snow screamed. Emma stumbled, her head spinning as if she'd just run full speed into a tree, but a pair of arms seized her around the waist, somewhat keeping her on her feet. Snow was not so lucky. She ran out of the trees and collided with the smaller of the two bodies, her own flipping over as she tried to stop herself at the last moment and the other person slamming into the ground. Emma whipped around and came face to fact with David- James.

"What happened!" he said, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

The lights weren't town at all; they were the bulbs in the small flashlights now sprawled on the floor. Emma stood up and stared him in the eyes, her own eyes glossy and lined with the stains of her drying blood. She dug her nails into the popping muscles of his arms.

"Ruby's a wolf," she breathed. And then she passed out.

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**Did the music help?** **They're both on the list of my favorite songs.**


	17. Staying Power

Chapter 17: Staying Power

Snow turned over and vomited, the sounds of her retching permeating the air. She felt a small hand touch her back; it was comforting, but it did not stop her stomach from churning. In twenty-eight years she had only really run once: when she had escaped from jail. That had been a slow, measured run until she noticed someone had started following. Then, she only got a few feet before his arms were around her, dragging her off to his mansion. This time, she had just run over three miles in under twenty minutes. Her blood flowed freely from her leg, ebbing her strength, with every drop. She heaved again, but nothing came up. Snow curled into herself, like her stomach was squirming, trying to squeeze up the last bit of bile in its recesses. Snow choked and drew in a gasp. She coughed, her body slumping to the ground.

"Snow, are you all right?" she heard.

Mouth still open, Snow turned to her husband. James was on his knees, in his arms an unconscious Emma, half her face wet with blood. It was then Snow realized they were still in the forest. They were still not out of danger, and worse was that Henry was with them, whimpering and shaking against her.

Snow pushed herself up to her knees. "We have to get out of the woods."

James nodded quickly and glanced down at Emma. She was out cold and Snow knew there was no chance of her waking anytime soon. She had lost too much blood. Snow stood up quickly and swayed, finally stumbling over, before Henry used his own body to keep her standing. She grabbed onto his shoulder, steadying herself and then squeezed him hard to her hip. He still had not said anything and she wondered if he was now traumatized or in shock. Seeing his mother and grandmother flying out of the woods drenched in their own blood would scare anyone. James rose up as well, lifting Emma's limp body and keeping her level with his chest.

"Come on, Sweetheart," she panted to Henry, hobbling down the path with one of the flashlights the boys had brought.

She looked around, hoping the fight would keep Red occupied, though she was sure it was over by now. Between her and Emma, they had enough blood on them to attract every animal in Storybrooke's forests. She pushed harder, wanting to quickly get her grandson and daughter out of the dark cover of the trees. James kept at her side, Emma's head rolling in the crook of his elbow. It did not take long at all, and soon they stumbled through a wooden gate, out onto the sidewalk. Snow pulled Henry well into the street, under a yellow streetlamp and leaned over. The sweat had finally been given a chance to break through and she was covered, every inch of her skin dripping with a three-layered film of still pumping sweat.

"Snow, we have to get home," said James urgently. She nodded, but slipped further down the pole of the light. As if being in the trees had maintained her strength, the pain was now starting to set in and she felt herself growing exhausted. How much longer could she hold this?

"Henry," said James. He nodded his head to the left. "Go over there to the little blue house, that's Thomas'. Go get him. Bang on the door if you have to."

Wordlessly, Henry let go of Snow and charged across the street. James got down, lowering Emma to the floor. He leaned closer and took Snow's chin in his hand.

"Look at me, Snow," he said to her. She could barely bring her eyes up. She slumped further. Her legs were throbbing and shaking. Oh, what she wouldn't give for the numbness of sleep. James rubbed his hand over her face and through her hair, lifting her chin so she could look at him. "Come on, my love."

"What happened!" came a yell from the street.

Henry had returned a minute later with Thomas and Ella in tow, both wrapping thin robes around their bodies, Thomas without any shoes. Snow wanted to look up, she wanted to greet her friends and assure them that she was fine but her body would not respond to her brain's demands.

"I don't know," said James. "Snow and Emma were attacked in the woods. Emma's unconscious and Snow's not responding. I need help getting them home."

"Ella, give me your shoes and go call Doc," said Thomas' voice.

Snow felt her body lifted into the air. It wasn't James; she knew that, so it must have been Thomas. She tried to make herself lighter, but she just lay limp in his arms, her body completely disconnected from her mind. They started moving. Snow kept her eyes open, barely blinking when she was blinded by the bright streetlights blaring in her passing face. James and Thomas were talking.

"Are you okay?" whispered Henry's meek voice in her ear.

Yes, she thought, wanting desperately to put him at ease, but it was not the truth. It didn't matter, she was barely breathing now; she felt dead, her heart beating too slowly. She was reminded of the monitor beside Henry's hospital bed, the way the green line scurried across the black screen. The image filled her head and she heard the beep of the monitor as the line jumped. The machine had been plastic and white, like everything about the hospital. Plastic, fake- like her entire life; twenty- eight years wasted. Years filled of loneliness and regrets, where she spent everyday depressed and searching for something that continuously evaded her. Then she'd found it. Emma had stumbled into her tiny town with that beaten bug and hard exterior and Snow had melted, the loneliness draining away as she gained a best friend. And Emma was her best friend, just as much as Red was. Emma, who stood beside her every time she put herself down or messed something up. Emma, who had gotten her out of jail, off murder charges, the same Emma who was her daughter. Emma, who hated her.

Being yelled at like that in the forest had set Snow's pride blazing. She felt she had to fight. She knew how much it hurt, how much Emma needed that opportunity to voice everything she was feeling. It was cathartic. Hadn't she told Emma that once, about the truth? Well she was wrong, the truth hurt like hell. More than her flailing heart, the pounding in her lower legs, the soreness already forming in every muscle in her body, the truth was white-hot pain. Her daughter hated her. There was nothing simpler in it than that. Even though Snow had done the right thing it had not stopped the pain she had wanted to avoid.

They were ascending now; she felt herself jostling in Thomas' arms. Again, she thought she should attempt to help him, make herself lighter, but nothing happened. The hallway was dark, but light flooded her eyes as they made their way into the apartment. Thomas took her gently to the couch and lowered her down. He looked into her eyes, his face bent in concern.

"Alright, Snow?" she heard. She saw James come to Thomas' other side and lower Emma to the cushion beside her. Under the bright lights of her apartment, Emma's blood gleamed like wet paint. Underneath her skin was pale white, like porcelain, like Henry's dead body. That thought sent Snow's heart wild. She tried to get up, but still she was too tired to physically move, instead she sat there panting, a terrified look looming into her face.

James' hands came to her face, stroking her cheeks. He whispered to her softly, blocking everything out of her line of vision except his bright eyes. How could she have been angry with him? Why had she ever doubted him? Here was her Charming, strong when she was weak. She had tried for so long to stand sturdy for him and now she was falling apart, her whole world crashing down, weighing on her shoulders. Snow whimpered.

"Open your eyes, honey."

She had not even realized they were closed. Charming's face came into focus again, his hands still running along her skin. A heavy knock came at the door and she heard Thomas shuffle over to it.

"Doc," said James standing. He explained the situation to the best of his knowledge pointing out Emma's head and Snow's leg. Doc approached pushing his glasses further up his long nose.

"We need to get this cleaned," he said about Snow's leg. "Snow must be first, we need to stop the bleeding."

He turned and gave both James and Thomas instructions, to which they scrambled. Thomas lifted Snow again and carried her to the small bathroom in the corner of the apartment. He sat her inside the tub. Snow thought she could sleep very nicely here, the cold porcelain like a womb to cradle her. Maybe she would not be able to hear the world from here. It could all fade away and she could curl up and hide. No more feelings or responsibilities. No more people angry or disappointed or vengeful.

James came over, pulling off her shoes and rolling up the leg of her pants. She glanced down and had no reaction. The others hissed, taking in the deep scratches, the pinkness of the meat and the brightness of the bone. Snow wondered what had happened. She remembered a wolf. Emma was on the ground. The wolf lunged and she had unconsciously launched her body into the air, colliding with the furry body of the animal. She had slammed to the ground, her back catching on a thick branch, and then there had only been pain- an explosion in her leg.

"Prince, wash the blood away with the water," ordered Doc, I'll be back right away. "King James, collect water in a bucket and bring a towel. I must check on the princess."

The dwarf turned and left quickly, James in tow. Thomas started the water in the tub, using his cupped hands to pour it over her legs. Snow felt a little sting. She closed her eyes, leaning against the back of the tub.

"You must keep your eyes open, Snow," he said to her, shaking a wet hand on her shoulder. She opened them slowly. "Just for now. You can sleep soon."

She nodded and stopped. She nodded. Snow opened her eyes all the way. Her head was responding. Maybe the pain was helping. It was definitely increasing, pulling her from the depths of her well of sorrow. She clenched her teeth and used her hands to push herself up.

Thomas turned his head. "Can you speak?"

"Yes," she croaked. Her voice sounded so foreign. Snow brought a hand up to massage her temple.

Thomas smiled at her and called for James over his shoulder. Her husband came back into the room, a red stained towel in his hands. Seeing her moving, she rushed over, dropping to his knees and cupped her cheek in his hand.

"Emma?" asked Snow, remembering the blood on the towel was her daughters. She shifted her hands to push herself up, but James pushed down on her shoulder.

"Shh," he said gently. "She's alright. Doc is stitching her up now. What happened, Snow?"

Snow sighed, sitting back. She pinched her eyes receiving a panicked order from James to open them back up.

"Charming," she said touching the warm hand on her cheek. "I'm fine, really."

"You've already said that a million times tonight. I don't want to hear it anymore. Tell me the truth. What happened?"

Snow gasped a little as Thomas splashed more water on her leg. She looked down and bit her lip. She was surprised it didn't hurt as badly as she imagined it should have. Perhaps her body and brain were not yet completely connected.

"Red and I followed Emma into the woods. She had fallen and hit her head. I tried to help. We had a fight. Red changed. There's not much else to tell."

James looked at her, shy all of a sudden, "You and Emma had a fight?"

Snow turned her head. She felt shame wash over her just thinking about it. "You don't want to hear about it."

He gave her a look. He did want to hear about it, but he wouldn't push. He could wait. For that she was grateful. The fight had happened less than an hour ago and already she regretted it above most things in her life. Thomas stood, announcing he was going to Doc. James nodded, but then turned his attention back to his wife.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she whispered. She peered up at him with wet eyes. What was wrong with her lately?

James shook his head, "It's fine."

"No, it's not Charming," she said immediately. She had very few people on her side, and yet it seemed that she was going after all of them. The only one she hadn't yet fought with was Henry, though she supposed it would be a difficult feat. Henry was too calm a being to ever be upset with.

"I guess I've been kind of angry."

James dropped the towel in his other hand and brought it into the tub to hold both of Snow's.

"You know you can tell me anything," he said.

Snow licked her lips and trained her head down. She picked it right back up when the bathroom door widened and allowed Doc and Thomas to enter. Doc came in with a bundle of bottles in his arms, which he promptly dumped on the floor before kneeling down beside James.

"I have to clean the wound," Doc told her, looking directly at her face. She nodded, but he looked unconvinced. He turned to James and told him to, "hold her down."

James obliged, pressing into Snow's shoulders. Doc uncapped the top of a plastic brown bottle. He poured a thin line of the water-like liquid into the cap and then leaned into the rim of the bathtub. Doc took the cap and poured its contents just below Snow's knees.

Snow gasped and jumped. It felt like her skin was burning. Just the small area that Doc had treated felt taut. Doc sighed with his lips pursed.

"Really hold her down," he instructed to James.

He had barely gotten the sentence out before Doc took the bottle, brought it above Snow's leg and poured the contents directly onto her open leg. Snow's leg imploded. It was worse than the initial injury. Snow screamed and reared back, slamming her head on the wall behind. Thomas joined the group and helped James keep her hands back. Snow started crying, the tears streaming into her trembling lips. James called to her, but she could barely hear. She was shaking and suddenly she was scared. This was the beginning. The pain would not end here. And each healing process would be twice as painful as the first wound. Snow slumped, slipping to the edges of consciousness. Her leg was lifted up and she felt the pressure of a wrap.

James' hands were all over her, rubbing her face, running through her hair, massaging her ears. He seemed to need to touch every inch of her. Snow reached for his hands and held them still. The warmth radiating off of them reminded her of a blanket and the way they would lay in bed together, his body wrapped over hers. It was the only time she felt safe. She could not be excused for the way she had treated him. Charming was all she had, the only one to take care of her. She closed her eyes slowly, feeling the low of the blinding pain dragging her down with it.

"Stay with me, Snow," she heard.

Of course she would.


	18. Letting Loose

Henry stared at her. He hovered inches from her face, straddling her stomach and not blinking. If he blinked, he could miss it, and that was not something he was willing to let happen. He had not really spoken since Snow had knocked him to the ground. He was scared enough going into the woods in the middle of the night, but at least Grandpa Charming was with him, so he was sure nothing bad could have happened. But then, of course, something horrible had happened. When Henry saw the blood pooling into Emma's eye sockets, after she collapsed, he went completely numb. He couldn't move, speak, or hardly breathe. All he could do was stare.

So staring was what he was doing. Her face was clean now, Doc had done a good job of that, but her skin was still stained a light pink, like the traces of blood had started to sink back into her body. Henry focused more. Maybe if he prayed- begged- his mother would open her eyes. No one was around; they were all in the bathroom taking care of his grandmother who had also stumbled out of the trees bleeding, so Emma shouldn't be afraid. It was only him; she could open her eyes just for him.

Her eyelashes fluttered and Henry jumped. They peeled back, revealing cloudy green eyes. When they fully opened, Emma jumped too.

"Oh, kid," she breathed turning her face away and placing a hand on her chest.

"Emma?" Henry whined. It would be bad of him to break down in front of her, right? She could still be hurt. She needed him.

"What happened?" she murmured, running her hands over her forehead. Coming to the gauze taped to her skin she paused and grew confused.

"Charming carried you out of the forest. You were bleeding. You were really white, Emma," he explained, trying to emphasize how much _white_ was an understatement.

Still blinking awake, Emma pushed herself up on the couch. Henry crawled backwards, dropping to the floor beside her, but still pressing his body against her legs. She was much warmer than before. That was good, right? Emma looked over at him and sighed.

"I scared you," she said, pinching her lips.

She reached her arms out and pulled him against her chest. He could hear her heart beating and could almost feel it's strong pulse. Henry tried to restrain himself, but a few tears ran down his face. He felt drained. Emma pulled him closer, allowing him to sit down on her lap. Henry hiccupped and Emma raked her fingernails through his hair. It felt so good, Henry considered curling up against her and falling asleep. He was still afraid of that too, but it would be easier.

A scream echoed through the apartment.

"Snow!" said Emma standing so fast she dropped Henry to the floor.

Henry scrambled up throwing his arms out. Emma was standing unsteadily, her eyes wide with a fear he had never seen.

"No, no," he said. "She's okay. They're just cleaning her up, Emma. She's fine."

He pressed his hands into his mother's stomach trying to ease her back onto the couch. She had started shaking. Badly. She twisted her head from right to left as if expecting the scream to come again but from an unknown direction.

"Sit down, Emma," he told her. She did. Slowly lowering herself onto the cushions, she curled like a rollie pollie and brought her head down to her knees. Henry stood up on the couch behind her and rubbed his hands on her back. He had done the same when his grandmother threw up in the woods. He had seen others do it and supposed it was comforting.

"Emma," said James, finally coming from the bathroom. He rushed over and sat on the couch beside them. "Are you okay?"

He placed a hand on her hair and tried to turn her head. Emma automatically shooed his hand away and looked up.

"Fine," she grumbled.

"What happened?" Charming shook his head. "What really happened?"

Emma rubbed her eyes impatiently. "I fell and hit my head. There was a horse."

Charming gave her a look. "A horse? In Storybrooke?"

Emma shrugged and blinked. "It was there; I touched it. Then, a wolf attacked it and I fell. Snow and Ruby found me. And then Ruby-"

Emma stopped and stared off across the room to the other wall. She seemed to shrink into her own thoughts. Henry climbed down from the couch and stood in front of her. But his mother did not see him. She was looking right through him. He looked at his grandfather who seemed just as concerned.

"You need sleep," he decided, once again placing a hand on Emma's head. She didn't shake it away. "Help me get her upstairs, Henry."

Henry followed his grandfather's lead and pulled Emma to her feet. She blinked and responded, helping them guide her to the stairs. Charming tried to lift her but she refused to be carried so instead, Henry took her hand and pulled her up one step at a time. They reached the bedroom quickly. Emma shuffled onto the bed and sat pin straight. She gave Henry a look.

"Kid, have you eaten?" she asked. Henry shook his head. Food should be the last thing from her mind at the moment, yet he suddenly felt just how hungry he was.

"You should go find something," she said.

"No, that's okay," said Henry shaking his head. He would much rather crawl into bed with her and forget the entire night even happened. He just wanted to drift off and pretend he was just still napping from earlier. This could all be a bad dream. He was known for that lately.

"Go eat," she said. She was being very insistent. Henry opened his mouth to argue but Charming turned to him.

"Listen to your mother, Henry," he ordered.

Henry stared between the two adults and then nodded. Emma seemed tired and completely out of touch. But Charming had given him a stern look. Maybe his grandfather was going to try to talk to her. Either way, Henry knew he was not going to go downstairs to eat. He padded out of the room and went down a couple stairs, walking a little more forcibly than normal. After a second, Henry turned around and went to the other side of the door, where neither of them could see him. He peeked through the slot with the door hinges.

Charming sat down next to Emma. The bed groaned under his weight, as it always did. He leaned forward, trying to see into her face.

"Are you alright?" he whispered to her. Henry pressed himself closer to the wall.

"Could you go too?" she asked.

Charming sighed and grabbed one of her hands. "Emma-"

"Please," she begged, her voice cracking.

Henry saw the tears curling from her pink eyes. He had seen Emma cry only a couple of time before. One time it was because she felt guilty- for giving him up. Another was when she talked about her past and the last time was when she was saying goodbye. Neither of those had been actual crying. She had just teared-up. Henry feared this was worse.

Charming stared at her for a moment and then nodded slowly casting his face away. He stood and walked out of the room, closing the door just a little. Henry jumped and was about to scramble away, but his grandfather took up post behind him and stared through the door hinges as well.

Emma sat on the bed for only a second after her father had left, but now she bolted across the room to a box that stood on a chair. Henry had never really noticed it before, as he really only stayed in the room to sleep. And in the months they had been reunited, Henry hadn't really had time to explore all of Emma's possessions. She reached in and pulled out a soft-looking beige bundle. Henry saw the purple ribbon. Her blanket. He heard his grandfather gasp.

Emma brought the blanket up to her face, burying her nose in it. Then, quickly, she snatched it away and pulled at both ends of it fiercely. She let out a long, frustrated groan. Her face scrunched up; Emma yanked at the middle, using her bulging muscles to try to tear the cloth. Nothing happened, except her face got red and she started choking.

Behind him, Charming walked away and went right back through the door. Emma didn't notice until he came up behind her and pulled the blanket from her tight grasp. Without giving her a chance to react, her father pulled her into a crushing hug. Emma whimpered and then seemed to fall apart in his arms.

His mother's choked sobs ran through Henry's body and he hurried back into the room. Charming lifted Emma into his arms and carried her to the bed, setting her down in his crossed lap. He gave the blanket back to her, which she clutched, like it was her broken heart, to her chest. Henry crawled onto the bed and sat at Emma's head. She was truly weeping now, heavy tears flowing as freely as a river down her cheeks. As Henry ran his fingers through her hair, she wailed. Like a baby that has no control over it's limbs, Emma's body shook and jerked.

"Let it out, Emma," Charming said. He was crying too; his sky blue eyes were stained red and he placed a big hand to Emma's head, holding her to his heart.

Henry scooted closer and lay down, his head in Emma's curled lap. He wrapped his arms around her trembling waist and wondered what she could possibly be thinking. He could usually figure Emma out. He usually knew what she was doing and why she was doing it, even if she didn't want to admit it. Like her trying to leave: she claimed it was best for him, and maybe she believed it a little bit, but really she was scared. She was scared of screwing up, she was scared of finding her parents, and she may have even been a little scared of him. She didn't think she could be his mother, which was sad, because in his eyes, she was already doing a much better job than Regina. He wanted to be with Emma, and if that meant he'd have to hold her every night while she cried, so be it. Henry wanted to show her he was worth staying for.

Emma sobbed like never before. In some intervals, she cried so hard, she stopped breathing, and Charming would fan his hand in her face and tell her to breathe again. She always did, but it seemed like she would never stop. Henry lost track of time, but eventually she stopped breathing again and didn't start back. Henry sat up quickly and stared at her only to find her asleep. Charming was still rocking her with his eyes closed. After a moment, his grandfather opened his eyes and they shared a look.

Henry understood and slid off the bed. Charming carried Emma up with him and Henry pulled all of the covers back. Charming lowered Emma into the bed and pulled of her shoes and jacket. She whimpered again, in her sleep, and coiled into herself, the blanket between her elbows and knees. Having her settled, Charming looked at Henry and jerked his head to the door. Henry followed and came to a stop by the stairs. Charming stoopped down and place his hands on Henry's cheeks.

"I know this has been a lot," he said, looking Henry directly in the eye, "but you're handling it remarkably. You're really something special, you know that?"

Despite himself, Henry beamed. Now was one of the moments he remembered he was speaking to the real Prince Charming. His grandfather was the actual king of the enchanted forest.

"It's our job to take care of the girls. And right now they need us," Charming nodded, receiving the same for Henry. "I need to check on Snow. You take care of your mother."

Henry nodded enthusiastically. Of course he could take care of Emma. Charming gave him one last nod and then pushed him back into the room. He heard his grandfather's booted feet, clomp down the stairs. Henry ran over to the bed, kicking off his shoes, and turning off the light. He climbed in, pulling the covers over both he and Emma and threw and arm around her waist. Henry snuggled against her back and swayed his body from side to side, creating a rocking motion.

"I love you, mom," he whispered, trying it out. Emma didn't respond, and he wondered if she had actually heard him. He decided that she hadn't and came to the conclusion that he shouldn't try it again. Not until the emotional mess they were in was over. But who knew how long that could take.


	19. The Truth of it All

Emma woke up slowly, for the first time in what felt like weeks. She was conscious before she was even able to move her body, and she liked it like that. This was the way to wake up, renewed, not jumping out of bed because of a terrifying thought, awful dream, or the worst: realizing that your worst nightmare was not a dream. Instead, this morning she felt peaceful, basked in the warm glow of the light filtering through her blind. She became aware of how hot her back was next. Turning over slowly, Emma found her chest level with the haired head of her son. She smiled. Stretching out, Emma curled her body around Henry's and stroked his thick hair, humming to herself.

"What's that song?" she heard. Pulled out of her serene lull, Emma smiled down at Henry. He cast droopy eyes her way.

She shrugged lightly, "I don't know. Something that comes out sometimes."

"Oh."

They fell silent. She could feel Henry's warm breath clouding on her stomach. It brought a smile to her face again. She took her nails and raked through his hair a little harder. Not hurting him, but just to feel how real he was.

"You know, we used to do this all the time," she said.

He moved his head again. "Do what?"

"Lay like this in the morning," she said. His small face scrunched and Emma chuckled. "I mean when I was pregnant. You never really let me sleep at night, but you were always calm in the morning. I was so scared that if I got up, I might bother you, so I would lay in bed until you kicked me. And I would just do this."

She rubbed her hands along his back, up and down, slowly and rhythmically. Henry sighed, contently and scooted into her, forming himself into a ball.

"It was the only time I didn't have to think," she said.

It was quiet again. For a long time they just lay together, breathing into each other. Emma imagined she was still pregnant but quickly discarded the fantasy. This reality was much better. When Henry kicked her in the night, she could reach down and toss his foot to the side. When he pressed his hands into her stomach, she could see them, and touch them with her own. This Henry was real, not the constant state of fear she had lived for nine months.

"Are you okay?"

Emma pressed her chin into Henry's head and squeezed his body to hers. "Yeah, kid. I'm okay now."

And she was. Normally she would cringe thinking about the breakdown she had had the night before. And that was not even a breakdown; it was a complete shattering of her body and soul. But the honest truth was that she had needed it. Emma had needed to cry and lash out and scream that nothing in the world made sense; because the world she was living in was not her own. Now, she could accept that her life was a lie, there were other worlds, and we were not alone. Dragons and werewolves did exist and sometimes they were people you knew. Magic was real and it had destructive power. Emma's son was back from the dead and her parents were feet away from her.

Emma closed her eyes and almost found herself pressed up against James' chest again. That had been the best part of it all. The crying, the shaking, it had felt good, like she was finally expelling something heavy from her body, but being held- being rocked- was the most amazing feeling in the world. And that was what had made her cry more. The way he had used his big hands to claw at her arms, not for himself, not because he wanted something, but because she needed it, she needed to belong to another human being. He had just let her cry, never once telling her to stop, never asking what she was thinking, never interrupting her. Emma had cried more, only because she didn't want him to stop. She didn't want her father to put her down.

What a strange thought. What a weird feeling, never wanting to be let go. Sometimes, being let go was all Emma had ever wanted in her life. She wanted to let go of her past, of her life, of her parents. And now she was finding it all falling to her feet, ready for her to pick it all back up. She was still angry; she still felt the sting of a lifetime of rejection and pressure. But she could think now, her thoughts could come through coherently and she could catch onto them, almost as if they were solid beings. She could feel the rage and the hatred, but she could also feel the peace and the sense of duty.

Henry's stomach growled blending into the screech of hers. They busted out laughing. Emma sat up slowly and stretched her arms above her head. Henry copied, adding a scratch behind his ear like a little puppy.

"Let's go eat, I'm starving," she said, hopping down from the bed and leading Henry to the stairs.

The metal was cold to her bare feet, but Emma's stomach grumbled again and so she barely paid it any mind. She and Henry descended quickly and ran into the kitchen, working like a well-oiled machine, taking out the bowls, cereal, spoon, and milk. They were just carrying it all to the table when James walked through the curtain of the bedroom. He smiled brightly at them and walked over to the cabinet for his own bowl.

"Morning," he boomed, dropping into the seat beside Emma.

"Morning!" chirped Henry, although it was one full of Fruit Loops.

Emma smiled lightly at him. She could feel the embarrassment creeping into her skin. It was only now occurring to her that she was a grown woman who had clung to a man, hysterically bawling. Her ears started to grow hot.

"Where's Snow?" she asked, trying to divert her own attention.

James looked at her, clearly taken aback. He recovered quickly enough though.

"She's coming. She's just finishing getting dressed now."

"Is she okay?" Emma remembered the screams that had pierced every layer of her skin last night.

James shrugged. "She hurt, but she'll be fine. Snow's tough."

He said it with a wink and shoveled a mouthful of cereal down his throat. Emma followed his lead, smiling over her bowl at Henry who was smiling back, slyly. A strange clomp from behind forced Emma's head around. She found Mary Margaret- _it's Snow_- propping herself up with a pair of crutches. She came out of the room and Emma's stomach dropped. Her leg was bandaged from ankle to knee, and though she did apply pressure to it, Emma still saw the same flinch of pain that had scared her in the woods.

"Where did you get those?!" said Henry.

"Let me help you," said James, pushing his chair back quickly and running to her side.

"No," she said, turning slightly away. "I'm fine, Charming. I have to learn."

And she was learning fast, gliding her feet over to the floor until she reached the table and lowered herself down beside Henry. James brought another bowl and spoon to the table. Snow addressed Henry.

"Doc and Thomas went out to the hospital last night, apparently," she turned to James for confirmation, to which he nodded.

"Does it still hurt?" said Henry tossing his head around, to catch the bandage at different angles.

Snow chuckled, "Yes. But it'll heal. It's just a scratch."

"I'm glad you're okay," said Emma, her voice low and shy. "Well, not okay, but-"

"I know what you mean," cut in Snow kindly. They looked at each other for a moment and then both turned away.

The table did not fall silent, thanks to James and Henry's increasingly loud conversation about horses, swords, and farm animals, but Emma and Snow stayed quiet, eyes drilled to their bowls. Or at least, Emma thought Snow was not looking at her. She herself could not keep her eyes trained down for more than four seconds. She found her gaze drifting slowly up. Tracing the curvature of Snow's chin, her long neck, and taking in her frosted glass-like pale skin. Emma had always thought Mary Margaret's eyes were pretty, but Snow's were gorgeous, like they burned brighter with the return of her soul. Like emeralds, one person had once told Emma about her own eyes. That's what Snow's were like: cloudy but sharp, multilayered emeralds.

"You'll want to change quickly," James said.

"Huh?" grunted Emma, picking her head up.

He grinned down at her, like he knew, but pressed forward reminding her that today they had to meet with the War Council. The meeting was scheduled to begin in another hour and James and Snow wanted to get to Granny's as early as possible. Henry bolted up the stairs, challenging Emma, with the promise that he would be ready before she was. Nodding awkwardly to Snow and James, Emma tromped up the stairs after her him, and then proceeded to loose when Henry danced in the doorway, fully dressed as she pulled on a long sleeved shirt. Emma stood in the mirror, about to pull back her hair and noticed the gauze taped down to her forehead. She touched it, finding it numb and wondered how bad it looked underneath. She didn't want to find out. Instead, she pulled her hair back down, but it did nothing to hide it.

They took James' truck to the dinner and found it already packed when they arrived. To Emma, it looked like the normal patrons were there, but she knew really, she was in the company of entirely different people.

"Snow!" Ruby ran from behind a group of people and almost caused herself and Snow to fall to the ground. James had to throw his arms out to catch them.

"Oh, Gods! You're okay!" Red cried, she had fat tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry for what I did to you!"

Snow caught her friend's shoulder and held her firmly. "Red, stop it. You were helping me. It's not your fault."

Red shook her head. "I shouldn't have come. You told me not to."

"Stop blaming yourself," commanded James, bringing Red into his arms and giving her a squeeze. "We want to be sure you're alright."

"I kind of had control, I just-" Red's eyes rounded as they fell on Emma. "Oh, Gods! What I almost did you!"

Red ran to Emma's side and took her face into her hands. Emma shied slightly away, but Red held a solid grip. She spewed out apology after apology, but Emma shook her head.

"Don't worry about it, really," she said, trying to smile. It was just so difficult to focus when she wanted to think "Ruby", but she knew that this woman was so much more sure of herself, even in her guilt and regret, she held herself in a confidence that Ruby lacked.

"Help me to the table, Red," said Snow guiding her friend away. It was an act of kindness, Snow knowing that Emma was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. For such a peaceful morning, Emma felt like it would not last much longer.

The meeting started quickly, every participant wanting to begin. Emma and Henry sat on the counter, propping their feet up on the stools. Lancelot was there, dressed in a casual T-shirt, his muscles still rippling through, and sitting beside Granny, who sat with a stern face. Beside her sat Red, back straight, and glancing at everyone through dark eyes. Grumpy sat directly in front of Emma, more alert than Emma had ever seen Leroy. The others were there, the dwarf who Emma recognized as the lazy hospital security guard bright-eyed. Snow and Charming positioned themselves as what was the head of the table, James standing to address everyone. His voice carried throughout the entire dinner, reaching the Blue Fairy, as Henry called her, who stood behind Red, closer to the door, and Archie and Marco who sat hunched in a booth beside the table. Thomas and Ashley- Cinderella- stood behind the Fairy, listening intently and passing their daughter back and forth between them, the stroller tossed to the side somewhere. Beside them stood the woman she had met the other day, Mulan, next to Aurora and Philip. They looked happy to see each other all standing closely together and looking over when they agreed with what James was saying. On the stools beside Henry, sat Abigail, who Emma was surprised to find so much more delightful and powerful than Kathryn, and Henry's school gym teacher who was apparently Sir Frederick, the Knight. Henry waved to him, excitedly and received an enthusiastic one back. Her son beamed.

"Before we truly start," said a short man, with round wire-rimmed glasses. Emma supposed he was Doc, "we would all like to collectively thank our King and Queen for taking charge so quickly and for helping us. But most important, we owe our gratitude to Princess Emma, who saved us all. We owe you our lives, Savior."

Everyone stood up together and bowed directly to Emma. She swallowed and felt her ears grow hot again. Their lives? People owed her their lives? Emma ducked her head and took a deep breath. She had taken her breakdown already; she did not need to begin the build-up for another.

"Yes," said James. " I could not be more proud of our daughter and her son, our grandson, Henry. They are truly our heroes. They lifted this awful curse from us. And now we must decide where we go from here."

Henry smiled at them all but Emma only glanced up, looking directly at Snow. Her roommate's face was trained down, purposely avoiding eye contact with everyone. She seemed so distant. Emma had seen her style at the other meeting; Snow liked to let James talk, let him be the leader, but she was fully engaged. When she had stood to give her speech, fully accepting responsibility for the past, and yet reminding everyone that she could do nothing about it, Emma saw power. She saw a woman who knew who she was, what she wanted, and how to get it. She saw a woman who was determined; a woman properly fit for a Queen- a terrifyingly intimidating woman.

Now Emma saw Mary Margaret. She listened a little, hearing Philip voice his desire for action and giving Regina exactly what she deserved. She heard the cheers of agreement, and she heard when James stood again, insisting that this council was made up of people who were too knowledgeably aware of what revenge produced when pursued. She saw some hang their heads, and others voice other suggestions. She heard Mulan and Lancelot claim an almost undying fealty to King James and Frederick promise to handle matters outside the main sphere of things. Damage control, he said. Emma was a part of the meeting, but just barely.

The entire time she watched her… Snow sat quietly, finally paying more attention when the council went full swing into their discussion, but her eyes kept flitting back and forth from Emma and Henry on the counter, to her side where Archie and Marco sat. Emma watched her curiously as Snow's face turned more and more confused, like she was missing something that she desperately needed to understand. Emma found her predicament much more intriguing, especially when Snow finally spoke up.

"Jiminy," she said sweetly, "You haven't said anything yet. What do you think?"

Archie- Jiminy- blanched for a moment when all eyes turned to him. He glanced around the room, stammering.

"Well, I don't think violence is the answer, of course. Isn't that what got us all in trouble in the first place? I do agree that the Queen be held responsible, but perhaps a hanging, as has been suggested, is too extreme."

"Perhaps, we will need her," added the Blue Fairy, and so the conversation turned again.

Emma watched Snow nod slowly to Jiminy's answer and then sit back slowly, as if satisfied. But it did not last long. As the Council discussed ways of trapping Regina, Snow turned her head and stared at Henry. He paid no attention, engrossed in the conversation before him, but she stared right at him, the cogs in her mind whirring at a furious pace. Emma could almost see the sweat breaking out on Snow's forehead. Emma tried to catch her eye, wondering what could possibly be distracting her about Henry, when Snow turned away.

"Where's Pinocchio?" Snow asked.

The discussion died as everyone turned asking what the Queen had just said.

"Where is he?" Snow asked Gepetto, innocently.

Just then, Emma remembered August, lying in bed, transforming into a wooden puppet before her eyes. How could she have forgotten to go back for him? She was supposed to have saved him too. She had promised.

"I haven't been able to find him yet, My Lady," answered Gepetto his head bowed. He played with the hem of his shirt.

"But he must be here-"

"Snow," James laid a hand on her shoulder. His tone clearly indicated that she was both interrupting and perhaps being insensitive. Snow sat back again and ducked out of the conversation, once again diving into her own thoughts.

Emma was just thinking of ways she could sneak away to find August, when Snow's head snapped in her direction. Emma froze and stared back, but Snow was not seeing her. She was looking right at her, but it was like she was seeing something else, like she was somewhere else. Emma's confusion spiked when Snow's mouth started dropping open, a look of utter horror and disbelief clouding her face. Snow turned away, and Emma was shocked to see her roommate's chest heaving.

"Where is Pinocchio?" Snow interrupted again, much louder this time.

Again, she killed the conversation, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Why haven't you found him yet?" she asked Gepetto. She stared directly at him with the same look she had just given Emma.

"I-I-" he muttered, unable to hold eye contact.

"Snow," said James, again placing a hand on his wife's shoulders. This time Snow did not listen; instead she pushed herself, using the table, into a standing position.

"How many did the wardrobe take?" Snow asked, Emma could barely hear her. It was a simple question, asked without any flourish, just an expectation of an answer.

The rest of the diner fell just as silent as Emma had been. They stared at Snow through frowns and confusion, glancing between her and Gepetto.

"Snow, we already know," said James.

"Your Highness, it was meant for you and your daughter to go through," said the Blue Fairy.

"How _many_ could it take?" said Snow slowly, enunciating every word. Emma heard the venom underneath the question.

"The Savior went through," stammered Jiminy.

"Yes," piped Gepetto. He opened his mouth to continue but Snow cut him off screaming:

"_HOW MANY DID IT TAKE?_" The room fell quiet, the tension pulling like an elastic band already at its limit.

Emma slid down slowly off of the counter and to the floor. Jiminy, Gepetto, and the Blue Fairy exchanged looks and seemed to shrink away from the audience they now had. Emma stared at Snow who was perfectly still. She did not like how this conversation was going. She was incredibly confused and the realization she could feel coming, did not seem like something good.

Finally the Blue Fairy inhaled and tried to speak but Gepetto cut her off.

"No," he said with his hands, signaling for her to stop. He turned in the booth, facing Snow as best as he could. He swallowed and raised his chin and spoke clearly, "I put Pinocchio in first. The wardrobe took two."

The room died. Emma had never felt shock physically permeate throughout a room and almost knock everyone off of their feet. James' hand dropped from his wife's shoulders and he stood, a thousand lightyears away, blue eyes growing black. Snow balanced on her good foot and stood as perfectly as a stone. She did not breath; she did not blink. She stared directly into Gepetto's eyes and said nothing.

And then the diner exploded and Snow lunged across the table, knocking it to the floor, and pounced into Gepetto's booth like a rabid animal. Chairs flew across the floor as everyone reacted, falling to the ground, under the overturned tables or jumping into the thick of everything. Most everyone's hand went flying after Snow, but it was like the woman they grabbed at, was no longer human. She clung to Gepetto with a death grip, spit flying out of her mouth and absolute wrath in her eyes. It took Red, Mulan-who had reacted faster than anyone- Granny and Grumpy to pull Snow out of the booth.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY FAMILY!?" she screamed, thrashing in the arms of her friends. Everything was chaos and everyone was yelling.

Gepetto rose up with the help of Jiminy and Thomas. In just those short ten seconds, Snow had managed to draw blood, and a lot of it.

"Let go of me!" Snow demanded, wildly kicking both legs and clawing her way out of the hands of her friends.

"Snow, stop!" Grumpy yelled.

Quickly deciding they could not control her, the four of them dragged Snow through the diner and into the swinging door of the kitchen. It did not dampen the screams.

And in all this, James had still not pulsed a single muscle. He stood, dumbstruck, beside the fallen table. He stared far off; his mouth completely wide open, like a pitiful animal knowing it was dying. Abigail was the first to reach him, jumping off of her stool and pressing her hands to his chest. Lancelot and Philip came next, each taking a limb of James' and carrying him to a chair, but they could not get him in it. James' body had gone ramrod straight and his knees kept locked, his body shaking as his soul shattered.

Emma felt just like James. She backed into one of the stools at the counter. She saw the Blue Fairy run past her and into the kitchen. They did not know. Her parents hadn't known that they sent her through with August. They believed that she had gone alone. So…they hadn't abandoned her. They had given her up, a sacrifice in every sense of the word. A flash came through Emma's mind. Snow White, drenched in sweat and crying as she touched the top of a baby's head with her lips. _Goodbye, Emma._ That was her mother. Emma's mother had given her away moments after birth, not to come back and save the world, not to be the savior. _Find us. _To survive. That was what the book had been showing her. The only moment she had ever had with her parents and they had fought like hell to get her into the wardrobe, because they didn't know they could go with her.

A crash from the kitchen broke into Emma's thought and she heard the high pitched scream she had heard in the forest- the scream of Mary Margaret yelling at her to "LEAVE" when she didn't think she could save her friend from prison. Emma pushed herself away from the counter and hurtled right into the kitchen.

"YOU TOOK MY BABY!" Snow screamed.

Mulan and Grumpy had loose hold on her arms, while Red stood in front, hands outstretched, yelling over Snow to calm down. The Blue Fairy had pressed herself into a wall, and was being held back by Granny who seemed to be protecting her.

"I'm so sorry-" The Fairy voiced over, but it was no use.

"YOU LIED TO ME!" Emma's heart fell apart seeing Mary Margaret loose control like this. And she remembered in the forest when she had spat in her face the word "_mom_" and told her that she hadn't cared. Emma had told her she was a shit mother. And now her friend needed her.

Emma ran forward, sliding passed Red and threw her arms around Snow. She squeezed Snow's body hard against hers and then held her even tighter. Emma pressed her cheek to the hot skin of her roommate and whispered in her ear:

"It's alright. It's okay now."

And just as Emma had the night before, Snow melted into her daughter's arms and cried. Snow grappled with the leather of Emma's jacket and dug her nails deeply into Emma. As Snow's body fell, Emma lowered herself down too, until they were both on their knees. Emma blew soft shushing sounds into Snow's ears and took her head in her hand, cradling her roommate like a baby, the same way James had before.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," Snow repeated, her words blurring into each other as she practically screamed into Emma's chest. Soon, she was not getting words out at all, only a long string of wailed noises, the occasional "sorry" making it through.

"Shhhh," Emma whispered. She hiccupped and realized that she was not done weeping. Emma wondered if she would ever be done crying over the past, crying over the truth of it.

"I'm so sorry," Snow sobbed, loosing her breath and gasping it in like there was no air at all.

Emma pulled Snow into her lap and wrapped her tighter than Emma had ever held someone before.

"It's alright. It's over now. It's okay."


	20. Holding On

She almost wished someone had just told her. It would have been easier that way. She could have denied it then, saying that she could never believe that her allies, her friends, could ever betray her that way. She could have been stubborn and refused to believe it. But instead she had discovered it herself, and finding out like this filled her with a greater sense of betrayal then she had ever felt.

Snow knew there was something wrong from the moment they had entered the diner. Gepetto had always been a lively man; he loved to talk, and being older than all of them he enjoyed telling his life's stories just as much as they all enjoyed hearing them. But upon setting his eyes on Snow he had immediately recoiled and shrunk into the crowd, a hard crease dashed across his forehead. He ignored her wave. And Jiminy, too; Snow had to admit, finding out Jiminy Cricket had not actually been a cricket was unnerving and confusing, but she had gotten over it quickly enough. All she wanted was to give her old friend a hug and hear his whispery voice, but instead she got an awkward body bump with no real enthusiasm. But that was fine, the curse had taken a toll on everyone and people felt different, that was to be expected.

What she had not expected was her worst fear to come true. She could have gone into the wardrobe. There had been another way. Snow only really found out because Gepetto and Jiminy were acting so strangely, most unlike themselves. They kept their heads down and kept shooting each other glances. A couple of times they looked over at Emma. Snow followed their gaze, noting that Emma had a hard stare, arms crossed, as she listened to her father speak. Beside her, Henry sat giddily smiling at everyone in the diner. It must have all been so overwhelmingly exciting for him. Snow smiled and realized just how young he was compared to everyone in the room. He was the youngest, in fact.

That's when the tickling had started- the subtle urging at the back of her mind that she should be noticing something. It didn't take long to realize that someone else should have had a child. Gepetto surely would not have gone anywhere without Pinocchio. But when she asked they said he hadn't been found yet, and Charming scolded her a little for interrupting. But that hadn't seemed right. Everyone had been found. The curse had been broken two days ago, they had plenty of time to reunite with each other. Snow glanced over at Emma and caught her eyes. She turned away. But her mind kept whirring because there must have been something that she was missing. She wondered where Pinocchio could have been, he would be about Henry's age now. Snow looked at Henry and then found her gaze connecting with Emma's. And that's when she knew.

_"Yes, you did have a choice. You could have come with me, but you didn't. You handed off your job to a seven year old-" _She thought Emma was just screaming random things at her. That hadn't made any sense. _"And guess what? August left me too." _August! The stranger who had come to Storybrooke, the only one in all the time she had lived here. What did he have to do with anything. _"Pinocchio! Whatever the hell his name is!" screamed Emma_.

And like the floor had dropped out, Snow knew. The only way Pinocchio was August would be if he had aged; the only way he had aged would be if he, like Emma, had escaped the curse. She didn't even have to ask, the truth was already etched to the forefront of her mind and nothing could erase it. Gepetto's admittance had just produced rage. It was the kind of rage she had only felt once before, when she took Rumplestiltskin's potion and tried to kill her stepmother.

But now that rage was gone, slipping away as soon as Emma wrapped her arms around Snow's neck. It was just as powerful as Charming's kiss, except when she woke from it, this time she fell into a deeper sorrow. Now, Snow lay huddled on the ground, crying into her daughter's chest and clinging on for dear life. Because if she let go, if she let her daughter out of her arms again, she would never get her back. There were some things the world only gave you once. There were no third chances, and here was her second.

Nothing felt so safe as hearing her daughter's voice in her ears.

"Don't cry, it's okay," Emma whispered to her.

For the second time, Snow felt a rush of happiness and despair. The first had been just like this, her weeping, curled in Emma's arms.

_She turned over and looked to her right. Emma was lying on her back, her head turned to the other side and her chest rising and falling slowly. Mary Margaret watched her a bit, wondering when Emma would wake up. Maybe she should just go to the couch and let her roommate sleep, she would hate to disturb her._

_"You know watching me sleep is creepy, right?" said Emma, turning her head. Mary Margaret jumped and turned her gaze away._

_"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."_

_Emma grunted, pushing herself into a sitting position. "It's alright. I was awake anyway."_

_"Oh," Mary Margaret breathed. She gave Emma a sheepish smile and turned to her left, tucking her feet up._

_"You wanna talk?" Emma asked._

_Mary Margaret could tell Emma was uncomfortable. She had this way of speaking when she was, like she was holding back, unsure her words were the right ones._

_"I don't know," said Mary Margaret._

_"It's going to blow over, I promise."_

_Mary Margaret sighed. Already the tears were forming. "You don't know that."_

_"Maybe not," Emma said quietly. "But I am sheriff, so if anyone bothers you I can lock them up."_

_She had been hoping to make her laugh; Mary Margaret knew that, but the joke did not help, because it just reminded her that people _would_ bother her. They would judge her from now on and she would never be the same person again. She'd never get to be the schoolteacher who went to Granny's after work. Now she was a home wrecker, a whore, a tramp._

_"Kathryn slapped me," she whispered into her pillow._

_Emma stiffened beside her. "When?"_

_"At school…"_

_Emma started moving around. Mary Margaret could feel the tension. Emma was a doer, a person constantly on the go. She wasn't the type to take things lying down; she wasn't the type to be wronged. Although thoroughly depressed, Mary Margaret couldn't help but turn her lips up at her friend's agitation. It was nice to have someone mad for her._

_"I deserved it," she admitted. "I did steal her husband."_

_"That doesn't give her the right to touch you. No one has that right," said Emma roughly. "And that ass, David, doesn't deserve you."_

_Mary Margaret's bottom lip trembled. "I love him, Emma."_

_She gasped in a shaky breath, feeling the cry coming up her throat, but Emma touched her shoulders and made her look up._

_"Stop," She ordered. "You're too strong to be crying over a man. You're too good for him and this is all going to be old news in a couple of days."_

_"Everyone thinks I'm a tramp," she whined and despite her friend's demand she then broke down._

_Emma slid down onto her back and placed her hands on Mary Margaret's arms. It was awkward and she knew Emma did not know what to with herself or if she'd even said the right thing, but she had. Mary Margaret had been alone her entire life and she had cried herself to sleep many nights. This was the first time anyone had given her their shoulder._

Snow felt a pair of big hands grab her waist and try to lift her up.

"No!" she cried and wrapped her arms around Emma even tighter, digging her nails into her daughter's back.

No one was ever again going to take her away from her child, from her friend. She buried her head into Emma's shoulder pressing their bodies tightly together. She was propelled back to the time when she had passed her baby willingly into her husband's arms. In her mind she screamed at herself to take her back, take her back, keep her with you. If she had known then…

"Your Highness," came Lancelot's voice. "We're going to take you home."

"Emma's coming with you, Snow," said Red. "Come on, honey."

Again, the hands tried to pull her away, but childishly, Snow refused to budge. She knew she should move; being home would be much better. There they could hide away from everyone. But common sense and rationality were well passed Snow capabilities at the moment.

"I got her," said Emma and in a graceful swing, she was lifted off the ground and to her feet, Emma's arms clutched tightly at her back.

Snow pulled her face away and looked into her daughter's. Emma's nose was as bright red as her eyes. Her cheeks paled and she held her lips pursed tightly.

"I'm so sorry," Snow whispered again, stroking Emma's cheek. Her tears were heavy on her cheeks, like marbles rolling down the curves of her face.

Emma breathed deeply and averted her eyes. "Come on," she said quietly

Snow let Emma guide her from the kitchen and back into the diner. Snow barely noticed any of it. The upturned chairs, scattered tables and loose napkins registered nothing with her. In only a few steps Emma pulled her out of the restaurant and they inched into the car parked along the curb.

Moving mechanically, Snow pulled herself into the back of James' car, keeping a tight grip on Emma's hand. She slid in and found herself beside Henry who was staring up at James. James did not move, he kept his eyes forward, staring into the back of the driver's headrest. His face was completely blank. Emma maneuvered her way in uncomfortably.

"You okay, kid?" she asked, brushing a hand over Henry's face.

He nodded, his eyes wide, as he scooted to the side to make more room for his family. Henry looked up at Snow sadly, with a little bit a fear mingled in his deep eyes. Snow tried to smile for him, as she had done before, but instead she let out a sob. She reached her left arm out and snaked it around her grandson's waist, pulling him into her chest. She squeezed Emma's hand and then closed her eyes in an attempt to block out everything but the feeling of her child and grandchild in her grasp.

This was her limit. She could take no more- another surprise, another emotional event and she would just shrivel and become nothing to the world. She let her head rest against the window of the cab and let out a shaky breath, letting the slight rattling of the truck pull her into a quiet unconsciousness as they went home.


	21. The Only Way to Help

Henry sat with his head against Snow's chest, hoping they would get home soon. He was pretty sure his grandmother had not fallen asleep because Emma was staring into her face, clearly worried. Emma tried to shake her awake, but it didn't work. Snow's head still lolled to the side, exposing the her pale neck. Henry turned his head and found Charming in the same position he had been in for almost fifteen minutes now. In the diner, Henry had waved his hands in front of his grandfather's face but Charming saw nothing. He felt nothing either; Henry tried poking him in the side several times.

Henry was just as surprised as everyone else. Pinocchio had gone through the wardrobe with Emma? What did that even mean? The book said only one could go in and that's why his mother didn't get to have her parents. Henry had always wondered how Pinocchio had just been able to stroll into Storybrooke, but the book had never really elaborated on his story, until about a month ago when Emma found it, and even then it had stopped halfway.

He didn't know what any of it meant, but he knew soon enough he would. Snow's outburst had truly been frightening. He knew from the book that Snow White was not someone to mess with. He knew what she had tried to do after taking a potion and having her memories wipe out; but really, Henry had only known her as his sweet teacher. She baked cookies, liked stories, and looked small behind the green bars of the jail cell in which she didn't belong. But when she attacked Gepetto, Henry saw exactly what she was capable of. He no longer had any doubts that she could have killed the Evil Queen. The feral look in her eyes clearly said she could have done it to their old woodcutter.

When Henry used to walk around telling everyone about his theory- before he learned to keep it confidential in Operation Cobra- everyone would smile sweetly and mutter something about reality behind his back. They all thought he was insane, living in his fantasy world, and that sooner or later the real world would knock him back down. Well, it did, just not in the way everyone imagined.

As the knight Lancelot turned the truck on the right street, Henry's eyes darted over the faces of each of his new family members. He realized now, that he was surrounded by reality.

His mother was sitting the furthest away, pressed against the door. She had clearly told him, without any hesitation, that if anyone came near him she would take them down, even if it cost her her life. As much as Henry wanted to believe that it wasn't true, that Emma really couldn't hurt anyone, he now knew better. If she could kill a dragon, she could hurt a person, especially if she thought he needed protecting. He remembered the gun she had clipped to her belt yesterday. He knew too, that Snow White was equally as dangerous. The diner had just showed him that, but he had realized it when she crashed into him in the forest. Blood soaked through her jeans and yet she kept going, making sure they were well away from the line of trees before letting her arm fall away from his shoulder. Her stamina was unbeatable and he bet she was quite handy with a sword. And having the name Prince Charming did not mean that his grandfather was incapable of stepping up. Charming was strong, charismatic, and he exuded power. Henry wondered what he had done to collect such a strong following.

But it wasn't just his family that scared Henry. There was his mother, the Evil Queen, who he knew had killed Sheriff Graham and her father and Snow White's father. When it was all in the book, when the town was still cursed, it was a terrifying thought, but it hadn't _really _been real. Well, it was all real now and with every passing moment, Henry received tangible proof that soon the days of words and order would crumble to pieces and there might be a battle. He had to accept that everyone he knew would be in the thick of it.

The slam of the car door woke Henry from his thoughts and he sat upright ready to help Lancelot and Prince Thomas. Thomas came to their side and opened the door.

"James," he called, shaking Charming's shoulders slightly. When he received no answer, Thomas sighed and placed Charming's arm over his own shoulder, pulling his friend from the car. Henry jumped down after him.

"I'll carry her," Lancelot said to Emma. For a moment, Emma looked reluctant, but then she moved away and let the knight reach into the truck and pull out a still unconscious Snow.

Emma made her way over to him and touched her hands to his forehead rubbing her thumbs in a calming circling motion. She rested her chin on his head.

"How are you doing?" she said.

"I'm fine," Henry answered, leaning into her.

"Go ahead and open the doors for us," she said to him.

With a pat on his shoulders Emma turned away and tucked herself under her father's other side. She looked into his face trying to pull him from his trance but ended up just helping Thomas lift him. Henry ran to the doors, already having Emma's keys, and unlocked them as they trudged up to the apartment. Their footsteps were heavy, pounding the stairs, unevenly climbing to the second floor. Henry pushed the wooden green door aside quickly and stepped away giving them all room. Emma and Thomas led Charming to the couches while Lancelot stood in the doorway, Snow wrapped in his arms like a sleeping child.

"Don't tell me there are more stairs," Lancelot huffed eyeing the metal staircase that led up to Henry and Emma's room.

"Oh, no," said Henry jumping. "She sleeps in here."

He led Lancelot over to the curtain, pushing it aside to let him duck in. Lancelot carried her to the bed and then gently placed her down. Snow turned on her side and for a moment scrunched up like she was in pain, but then her face fell again into that blank look from the car.

"It's not been easy, has it?" sighed Lancelot, looking down at her.

It took a moment for Henry to realize he was being spoken to. He started and looked up to see Lancelot's dark brown eyes smiling at him.

"Yeah," Henry said, not knowing how to answer.

Lancelot grinned. "I bet you're going to be a remarkable prince."

Heat seeped up into the outermost layer of his cheeks. Henry bowed his head. "I don't think so."

So far, he had not really done anything to help anyone. He had eaten the apple and gotten Emma to believe, but really that had been stupid, impulsive and it had almost gotten him killed. Since then all Henry had been doing was tagging along with his mother, staying out of the way, and watching the disintegration of his family before they even became one.

Lancelot walked over and placed a big hand on Henry's head, cradling it like a basketball.

"Well, I do," he said. "You come from good blood, Henry. Not only that, but you're special. You seem to have already forgotten that you saved an entire world that didn't know it needed saving. I expect we'll all be pretty surprised with what you do in the future. Keep that head up."

Henry raised his chin and smirked. There was something wonderful about this world: everyone gave a lot more orders. Before, everyone in Storybrooke was unsure. When they saw Henry walking with his head down or sighing in his misery they tried to cheer him up, but they could not help him when they did not even know who they were. And so, most people had only felt pity for him, and they had done it from afar. All of that changed now; now when he bowed his head, he was told to pick it up. Lancelot told him he was special, his Grandfather told him he was important, and the citizens of Storybrooke thanked him for his bravery and determination. In just two days, his world had turned around. Some of it he wished he could erase: the pain, the suffering, the constant tears of his family. But others things, like being noticed, made all the difference.

"Let's let her rest," said Lancelot guiding Henry from the room.

In the living room Charming was moving. Thomas was down, crouched on the balls of his feet speaking to him. Emma stood to the side, arms crossed, a sad look in her eyes.

"We'll figure everything out," Thomas was saying. "You have your family. That's what's important now."

Charming nodded slowly and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

"We'll have another meeting tomorrow- a smaller one," his friend said patting his leg and standing back up. Thomas and Lancelot shared a nod and moved as one, leaving the apartment.

"I'll be right back, Henry," said Emma and she followed them out of the door.

Henry padded over to the couch and crawled onto one of the cushions beside his grandfather. Charming was shaking his head as if speaking to someone who was not there. Henry stared at the opposite wall with him, admiring the cracks that ran up its face. Damaged, but homey, like everything else in Snow's home. Henry glanced at Charming who was running his hands through his hair and now had tears dropping from his eyes. Henry slid over and laid his head down on Charming's lap. It was the only thing Henry realized he could do. He couldn't erase the past, nor did he know all of it. He couldn't warn his family of what was to come or ease the pain of their tortured souls, but he could sit with them. He could let them all know that he couldn't do much, but at least he was there. Charming snaked his arm around Henry's waist and sighed a deep, resonate sigh.


	22. Being Great

**Chapter 22: Being Great**

"So, do you need me to carry you up the stairs too, or do you think you can make it?" jeered Lancelot playfully.

He sat down beside Emma on the concrete steps. Thomas had already left, promising to handle everything back at the diner and informing everyone that the King and Queen were fine. She agreed that Snow and Charming would probably still want to have their meeting so a few people could come over tomorrow. Thomas promised to contact the necessary members. Now, Emma sat quietly on the stairs, letting the warming sun shine on her legs. She smiled at Lancelot as he sat down.

"You'll be the first one I call if I can't," she joked.

He huffed a gentle chuckle and studied her. Emma turned her eyes away and crossed her arms over her pulled-up knees. She could still feel the dampness on her shoulder from Snow's tears. She had never imagined that she could see anyone so broken, but the way Snow had collapsed in her arms, repeating her heartwrenching apology made Emma's heart constrict. And James…if Snow's meltdown was not enough, then his shock was. Emma had no idea what she could even do for him; he had just started responding again when Lancelot and Thomas made their way out, but Emma could not imagine what was running through his head. And then there was Henry, her poor son. He had literally only been in her custody for two days and already she was messing up worse than Regina had in ten years. She was sure these last days with her were much more emotionally scarring. Emma would not be surprised if he suffered a mental breakdown of his own soon; it seemed to be going around.

"This is hard for you," said Lancelot.

Emma turned her head and sighed, "What gave it away?"

He turned a serious eye on her. Emma marveled at how clear his eyes were- dark brown, but with the clarity of pure honey. "You must take better care of them, Savior."

"What?" said Emma. She had not been expecting that.

"I understand things are difficult for you, but they're difficult for all of us, most especially your parents. You have to take care of them; they'll keep going and going until they both break down and your mother, I don't think she can take anymore. She's already overwhelmed."

Emma looked out onto the street. Today the town was livelier than it had been the last two nights. People were walking quickly, their footsteps full of purpose, but at least there were people out. Take care of them. What a lofty demand. Emma could hardly take care of herself, how was she supposed to be taking care of her son and her… Nothing made any sense. Emma wanted to just crawl into bed and let the day fall away, even though it had truly only just begun.

They hadn't known about the wardrobe. All of Emma's anger and frustration and loneliness came back to her as confusion and uncertainty. If they hadn't truly given her up, what did that mean? For all her life she had despised her parents and now, apparently, they stood right beside her, in the form of two people she had actually liked.

"Don't doubt for a second that they love you, Savior," said Lancelot. Emma had almost forgotten that he was still there.

"I don't know what to think," she said, brushing her hand through her loose curls.

"I was there when the Blue Fairy introduced the tree to us. We all heard what she said. Only one could go in. As soon as they heard it, your parents were ready to stick your mother in that wardrobe. They would have done anything for you. I can't say what happened that night, but I know they would not have let you go if they didn't think it could save you."

She had been saved, hadn't she? Emma supposed if she hadn't been put in the wardrobe she would have remained a baby, probably ripped away from her parents anyway. Maybe Regina would have killed her then. Emma shuddered to think just how old everyone around her was.

"We can only begin to heal if we are willing to heal, Savior," he said quietly.

"I'm not a savior," argued Emma immediately.

Lancelot pondered on that for a moment before responding. "You may not always be a princess- actually, I don't know if you really are one now- but you were born the savior. It's who you became; it's who you are. You may as well get used to it."

Emma frowned at him. Did she want to heal? After so long with her pent up hate, could she just let it all go and accept that her life was not really the life she was meant for? She had broken the curse, but now what? What did a savior do? Emma wasn't sure she could be of any help to anyone. Lancelot smiled and stood up, saying that he should find Thomas and figure out what was going on. Emma nodded and stood up herself mentally preparing for what awaited her upstairs.

"I'll see you around, Savior," he said, waving to her.

"You do know," Emma called after him, " that calling me that is like me calling you 'Knight'."

He laughed. "The proper term is 'Sir'," he said. "Hasn't your mother taught you anything?"

With that, he turned away and walked down the sidewalk, his broad back swaying as he moved. Emma stood at the door for another moment watching him go. She felt a little annoyed that she was smiling slightly. She turned it into a smirk.

* * *

Emma stepped into the apartment quietly. For everyone being home, it was intensely quiet. Actually, the silence was pounding, rippling with tension. Emma closed the door and crossed over to the couch. James was still sitting in the same place, except he looked up when she approached. In his lap lay Henry, his soft brown eyes searching hers. With her lips pressed together, Emma sat herself on the couch and patted her son's legs.

"Hey, Henry, why don't you give us a minute?" she said.

Henry looked at her, visibly holding back a retort. She gave him a look and he sighed, pulling himself from James' grasp and trotting to the stairs. His footsteps were light as he ascended. Emma turned to James and hesitated. She had seen David looking pathetic plenty of times, especially when Mary Margaret had not wanted to speak to him, but the look on James' face elicited something more than pity. Maybe it was because she now knew what a good person he was. Or maybe it was because of their newfound relationship, but Emma found herself not feeling sorry for him, but being sorry _with_ him. She had no clue what to say.

"Are you okay?" she said simply.

James shook his head slowly and kept his eyes, unfocused, on the far wall. "No."

Again, Emma felt stuck. She wanted to make him feel better, but she was having too hard a time differentiating all of her own emotions to know what to do with his. But he seemed to be climbing his way out of his trance so spoke without prompting.

"I just don't know who I am anymore," he said quietly.

He was…her father? Emma tried the word in her head and tried to match it with the man beside her. She knew now that it was true. She had seen the vision, she had learned the truth and yet, still, it felt unreal. Like maybe this man _could_ have been her father, but now it was too late.

"I used to think I was a great son, but then I couldn't help my mother. Then I thought I was a great husband…but I've hurt my wife in more ways than I ever thought was possible. I've hurt her even more than the Queen because I hurt her so deeply. Then I was a great king; but all I managed to do was get my entire world cursed. The one thing I thought I could finally say I was, was a good father... but I managed to screw that up in less than two minutes."

"You didn't know," Emma tried.

James snapped his head sharply, blue eyes suddenly focused, and said loudly, "I should have known. It was my job to know. I only had to do one thing and that was to get you and your mother to the wardrobe. And I had my chance, too. I could've taken Snow as soon as it was ready. I should have made her wait until she was safely inside. But she was in so much pain. I couldn't stand to see her in so much pain. "

Hot tears rolled down his face as he looked at Emma. He looked at her with such earnest as if begging her to understand. Emma breathed deeply and bowed her head. He clearly blamed himself for everything and his own guilt was enough to keep him drowning. Who was Emma to push him further into despair? With a brief moment of bravery, Emma lashed out and grabbed his hand squeezing it tightly in hers. Father and daughter looked into each other's eyes and saw the frayed souls that lied behind them. Emma felt her face redden and turned away before she started crying again. Releasing his hand, she slapped her knees.

"I don't know about you," she breathed shaking her head, "but I really need to get out of this house."

James smiled for the first time and nodded. "How about a walk," he suggested.

"I guess I'll get everyone," she said standing up awkwardly.

Quickly leaving the room, Emma marched straight through the white curtain before she lost her nerve. She opened her mouth ready to tell Snow that they were going for a walk, but stopped when she found herself facing an empty bed.


	23. What She Could Do

"Snow?"

Hearing her name called, Snow turned her head and glanced at the window. She had closed her eyes in the car, both hands clutching tightly to her children, and suddenly woken up, covered in sweat, alone in her bed. Unable to breathe, she hobbled over her small nightstand and climbed out of the window, onto the rusting fire escape. The sun was high in the sky now, giving Storybrooke its warm glow. She could not see much from this vantage point, mostly the shadowy alley below her, but she did get a glimpse of the street. Cars sped by giving a false sense of normality in the town. But everything was far from normal; nothing would ever be normal again.

"Snow!" Emma's head suddenly popped out of the window. Her blonde head swiveled until she had caught sight of her roommate.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked. Snow sighed hearing the slight panic behind her voice.

"I just needed some air," she answered, which was true enough. She felt like she was suffocating in the apartment, surrounded by memories, but what she wouldn't tell Emma was how she had really crawled out there in a fleeting moment of desperation. For a second, she had believed she could escape and never return.

Emma's head disappeared and then returned as she climbed over the nightstand and pulled herself onto the metal grate of the escape. Snow watched her closely, catching her green eyes for a moment before Emma turned away. She wished Emma would look at her again, Snow would never get enough of those eyes, her eyes, piercing into her.

"How's your leg?" said Emma, nodding at the white bandaging. Remarkably, the wound had stopped bleeding, leaving Snow with only the throbbing as her blood flowed down to her foot.

Snow shrugged. "It's fine. I've had worse."

Emma nodded then turned her face away again. Together they looked down at the street, not seeing any people, or anything different really. Neither of them truly saw, only looked. Snow thought it was nice, sitting quietly with her daughter. It reminded her of the times she and Emma would sit at the table both scratching on paper that should have been left for work, hot chocolates steaming beside them. Snow's heart fluttered as she remembered that they shared that quirk.

"About what I said in the forest-"

"Don't," interrupted Snow. Emma's head snapped to hers. Snow watched her closely, her expression calm. "Don't apologize."

"But-"

"I just want to start over, Emma," she said; and she did. If they could just be two people- no history, no connection- just two people who could get to know each other, Snow thought, life would be easier. They could never forget about the past, but maybe they could pay it no attention. If she and her daughter could come back together, Snow would not care about the betrayal, the lies. She could live in peace forever in this world and the next, if she could only fix her broken family.

Emma's pinched her face and looked at Snow in earnest. "I was so…_mean_."

She heard the ghost of Emma's voice screaming, spitting out "_mom_". Snow shook her head. "You told me the truth. How about we just keep doing that and see where it takes us."

Emma softened then, leaning back a bit into a more relaxed position.

"I think I can do that," she nodded. "But I'm still sorry."

Snow blinked. "Me too," she said, wishing she could reach out and take Emma's hand.

Emma almost smiled at her. Snow saw the corners of her lips twitch and then Emma looked away again, training her eyes on her crossed legs.

"I know we have a lot to do, but James was thinking of a walk," said Emma, after a minute. "Do you feel up for it?"

Snow really smiled then. It was an invitation, an invitation to join her daughter and do something. The pain in her leg seemed to melt away and she found herself nodding. Emma gave her a nod, and then backtracked, inching slowly back into the bedroom window. Snow crawled over to it and found Emma waiting beside the stand, her hand out to help. Snow took it, not willing to pass up a chance at the physical contact, and slid back into her bedroom. When she touched down, Emma turned her body as if to walk out, but Snow caught her cheek, forcing Emma to look at her. Their eyes met, and Snow got a flash of a small Emma, bright eyes wide and full of life. That was the Emma she could not wait to see.

The curtain whoosed open and Emma ducked her head. Snow dropped her hands, knowing that the moment was gone. James strode in his eyes wandering between the two of them.

"I'll go get Henry," said Emma, leaving the room quickly. They watched her go and then stood quietly. Finally James broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," he said rushing over to her and taking Snow up in his arms.

"Stop it," Snow demanded, pinching his chin between her fingers. She pressed her forehead to his and held his head in place. Snow closed her eyes, pretending she could feel Charming's heartbeat blending into her own.

* * *

In the daylight, Storybrooke's forests were the complete opposite of their nighttime counterpart. The sun filtered through the thick foliage of the trees, sparkling through as they walked along the crunching leaves of the path. They made certain to stay on the path, pulling each other back whenever someone's foot got too close to the edge. They were quiet, barely speaking. Even Henry was quiet, tucked into Emma's side, a sad expression falling on his face. The poor boy; he looked tired. Though their silence was a bit awkward, Snow liked it. It took nothing away from the fact that her family was together. Everyone in the all the worlds that mattered to her were walking right beside her, an arm's reach away.

James held her arm tightly, helping her hobble through the woods, being sturdy, as always. As they had not yet gotten a real chance to talk, she wondered how he was doing. She knew he must be taking it all so hard, blaming himself as he had a tendency to do. She regretted getting angry with him in the beginning. A world where she and Charming were apart was a miserable world indeed. She should stop dwelling on it. _Stay with me, Snow,_ she heard again in her head, his voice so strong she glanced over to see if he had said it again. He hadn't, but Snow squeezed his arm, her way of telling him that she always would. He grinned down at her. She would never leave any of them.

A bird chirped high in the trees. Its high trill caught Snow's attention and she stopped, lifting her arm out like a branch. She whistled, mimicking its perfect pitch and waited. In seconds, the bird fluttered down from the branches of a tall pine and alighted on Snow's arm. She grinned, seeing it's bright blue feathers. She wondered if even the birds had been cursed to this world. Snow turned showing the bird to her family. James smirked, recalling the many times she had done this in the past. Henry smiled with wondrous eyes and walked closer, tilting his head to see the pretty bird better. Emma stared.

Snow was a little caught off guard by Emma's hard look, her eyes dulled, as if Emma was pulling away, diving deep into her subconscious. Her face grew more confused until finally she spoke.

"Can you do that again?"

Snow glanced at James who looked over at Emma. "S-sure."

Snow looked up, searching the brightly lit trees for another creature. She caught the beating of a large bird's wings and whistled again, calling it to her. This time a cardinal swooped down, dropping onto her arm beside the blue jay. Both animals turned their heads to her as if awaiting instruction.

"That is so cool," whispered Henry, careful not to scare the birds away with a loud shout. Emma blinked.

"Have you always been able to do that?" she asked.

James nodded enthusiastically. "Snow's always been amazing with animals. Birds in particular, but all animals love her."

Snow smiled, a tiny heat working its way up her face at Charming's gushing.

"Oh," said Emma falling into an embarrassed posture.

"What?" asked Snow.

Emma shook her head quickly. "Nothing. I just…I used to be able to catch butterflies pretty well."

"Really!" said Henry. "Can you catch one now?"

Emma laughed awkwardly. "Oh, I can't do it anymore, kid. I haven't done it in years."

"How hard can it be?" asked Henry, his cute face bending as he asked the question.

"Try it," said Snow, lifting her arm to free the birds. They jumped into the air and settled on branches not far from the family.

"No, I really can't do it anymore," Emma muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Henry whined, "Come on, Emma. Look, catch that one."

They followed his finger and watched a big brown winged butterfly sailing through the air. Emma watched it for a moment, following its movements. Glancing awkwardly at her family and receiving an enthusiastic nod from each of them, she inched forward cupping her hands in front of her. She met the small creature, blocking its path and held her hands out to it. Snow smiled at Emma's face pinched in concentration, thinking that Emma was thinking much too hard. The butterfly fluttered over her outstretched hands, circling them, like a basketball on a rim, and suddenly falling into them.

"I did it!" Emma said incredulously.

The smile on her face set Snow's heart on fire. She turned and beamed, holding it out like a prize. Henry whooped and ran over to his mother, soaking up the fun of it all. James clapped enthusiastically and Snow smiled at her.

"Can you help me catch one?" asked Henry, hopping from foot to foot.

"Sure, I guess. When I was a kid I could catch a bunch of them," Emma revealed.

Emma stood very still and held the butterfly out further. She dropped one hand, and slowly raised up her other, the butterfly lifted into the air on her finger. Another butterfly, smaller with spotted blue wings came and settled on her finger, crawling up to stand beside the other. Again, they cheered for her, suddenly forgetting where they were and who they were, all marveling in the fact that Emma had proudly caught two butterflies. But Emma wasn't done. In under thirty seconds she had five butterflies perched on her outstretched fingers. Smiling brightly, Emma stepped back, as if making space between them. She raised the other hand and lifted her head. In the sunlight of the forest, Emma's eyes burned bright green. The forest seemed to still for just a moment and then, like a change in the wind had sent them, a swarm of butterflies filled the air around them.

The world exploded in color as small yellow wings soared passed them; greens dived from the trees; blues, brighter than the sky, sailed through the air. Snow spotted red, orange, browns, and blacks, flying passed her eyes. Beside Emma, Henry jumped. James ducked feeling the beating of a hundred wings fly passed his ears. Snow's smiled melted down into shock and her mouth fell open as she stared at her daughter.

Emma was on fire. The sun in all the forest seemed to glow brighter and Emma came to life, swarmed in activity as the butterflies danced around her. Hundreds, maybe thousands, from who knew where, suddenly flew to her like magnets. The followed a perfect line, almost creating a double helix around Emma's body. She lifted both arms high, a content giggle filling the air. Her laugh only seemed to attract more; blues with black stripes and mothy browns settled onto James and Snow's skin. Henry threw his arms over his head, as more dive bombed him and landed in his hair and fingers.

Glancing around her excitedly, Emma turned her body, breaking the small circle they all formed, and pointed her left hand out, down the dirt path of the forest. Like an army listening to their commander, the butterflies raised off of Snow, James, Henry, and Emma and flew straight, following the path Emma's finger dictated. A perfect line of multicolored butterflies fluttered away, disappearing into the surrounding trees. Emma spun around and beamed, her eyes bright like the green of a rainbow. Snow and James glanced at each other, stunned.

"That. Was. Awesome!" screamed Henry his own eyes wild in their sockets. Emma jumped like a child and grabbed Henry's hand.

"Come on," she said and together they took off down the path, following the butterflies into the trees.

Beside her, James stood very still and looked down slowly. Without a word, his eyebrows found their way up his forehead. Snow looked into his eyes and took a deep breath, finally closing her mouth. She shook her head. With no idea of what else they were going to see, they followed their daughter and grandson deeper into the forest.


	24. A World Still Collapsing

It was the most fun Henry had had in weeks. As he and Emma tore down the leaf-strewn path of the woods, everything of the past couple of days seemed to lift off of his shoulders. His world now consisted only of these woods, the animals, and his mother running beside him. They followed the trail of butterflies closely, eyes sparkling with the purples and blues and yellows of their wings. What Emma had done was amazing. It might have frightened Henry, who was a little afraid of butterflies, but seeing the joy on his mother's face had wiped that all away. Emma had never looked so beautiful as when she stood in the circle of fluttering creatures. Henry had also noticed his grandparents, whose faces were dropped in complete shock. This was not something that happened everyday. But Henry did not get a chance to consider what it meant, because now he and Emma were racing through the trees. It felt so freeing, so light. All he had to do was run, not think about what his actions would cause, how someone would feel, the tension that surrounded them all. Run.

In front of him, Emma slowed and threw her arm out, catching Henry before he went any farther. He stopped, his eyes growing wider at the sight. The butterflies had led them to a small pond, tucked safely away behind a thicket of bushes. Emma dropped her arm and took his hand, pulling him closer to the water's edge. Here, the grass was thick and luscious, the bright green of new growth. The water in the small pond was clear, layered with patches of deep green plankton. Smiling down at him, Emma led Henry around the edge of it, finally settling down close to the edge. Henry sat beside her, crossing his legs under him. He looked at his mother and wondered if she was a different person.

Henry hadn't seen Emma smile in days, but it was like a mask had been lifted now. Her skin seemed brighter, healthier, with the glow of the sun sinking into her pores. Her hair rustled in the slight wind- a wind Henry could hardly feel- the strands of it playing around her long, dark eyelashes. Under those were the liveliest eyes that had ever grace a human face. Henry leaned into Emma, his head laying against her arm. The heat radiating off of her was astounding; it was not sweat, or the heat of running, but the heat one can feel from standing around an oven. Somewhere deep, a fire was burning.

"What you did was really cool," said Henry.

Emma grinned. "Thanks. I haven't been able to do that in a long time. I forgot how good it feels."

"How did you do it?"

Emma glanced off into the shallow water, her eyes grew a bit unfocused. "I don't know. Sometimes it's like... I can feel them. It's like I'm connected to them somehow."

It was an odd answer, something he could not really connect with, but he accepted it. Henry would have been content to sit there forever, pressed against his mother, letting his heart rate drop in the middle of a glowing forest, but he had to know.

"Are you happy, Emma?" he said, looking up at her.

She turned and locked eyes with him, wasting no time in her answer. "You're here, aren't you?"

Henry grinned and snuggled closer to her as the bushes behind them shook. James and Snow came through, marveling at the little pond before them. James carried Snow on his back, his hands tucked under her knees and her arms around his neck. He walked them over to Henry and Emma, lowering Snow to the ground.

"I'm alright," Snow told him, when James turned to help her down. They sunk down into the soft grass beside Henry's outstretched feet.

"Sorry for leaving you back there," said Emma shyly.

James shook his head right away. "No, it was fine. I'm glad you two were having fun."

"We should do it more often," Henry chimed in, earning a happy smile from Snow. Emma stroked his arm with her thumb.

Henry loved this. There were only a few times in his short life that he wished he could have stopped time. The first was the first time Emma called him Henry. It was only the second day of knowing her and all before that she had called him "kid", but when she'd said it, it was like being invited in. In that moment- to her- he was real; he was special. The second time would have been when his mother, the Evil Queen had told him she loved him. He was angry and hurt and more conflicted than he had ever been in his life, but he could recognize things for what they were. In the hospital, monitors stuck to his chest, Regina had approached him and told him she loved him, and that was the first time since learning the truth about her, he believed it. And finally, he would pause this moment. He would sit in the arms of his mother forever, looking up her small smile, wondering where in her mind she was, because she did not seem to be with them. Wherever she was, it was peaceful, a memory Emma enjoyed, and there weren't many of them, so Henry would let her be. Beside him, Snow White, his grandmother, stole quick glances at her daughter, a prideful swell in her chest growing. She held hands with Prince Charming who winked down at Henry, including him in their silent moment. Sitting in the grass, the mosquitoes buzzing around there heads, and dragonflies dipping their wings in the smooth water of the pond, everything could just _be_ without the distractions of the world; without the distraction of Storybrooke and the curse, Henry sat here with his family.

"We should have brought snacks," Snow mumbled, peacefully.

Emma brought her eyes down and looked at her mother. Charming held up a finger and scurried away. They watched him disappear into the trees. He was gone for a full minute before he came back, his hands full of little black spheres. He settled back beside Snow and held his hands out. Henry and Emma eyed the berries warily, however Snow reached in and plucked two from his palms.

"Are you sure we can eat those?" asked Henry. He had learned in school, that some berries, especially ones found in the wild could be poisonous so he should never pick any up.

Charming laughed, "They're blackberries. I promise you'll be fine and they're good."

Sliding out of Emma's grasp, Henry leaned forward and took three from his grandfather's hand. He popped them all into his mouth and savored the sour taste against his tongue. He had never had blackberries before; they were interesting. Emma reached out and took a couple, sliding them into her mouth slowly.

Snow chuckled. "You can trust James, Emma. He's very good with 'foresty' things, aren't you, Charming?"

Charming scoffed and rolled his eyes, but it didn't stop the smile from playing on his lips. He threw a couple of the berries into his mouth.

"They teach princes how to survive in the woods?" asked Emma. She raised one eyebrow, looking very skeptical.

"No," Charming answered. "But I wasn't always a prince."

Now both of Emma's eyebrows raised, disappearing into the dangling bangs of her hair. Henry rolled his eyes. He really needed to get Emma to read the book. The curse was broken now, at least partially, and being unaware of things was going to get her in trouble. It already had with Red.

"He used to be a shepherd," Henry said. Charming nodded, impressed that his grandson knew.

"I spent many hours in the forest around our cottage. We had to take whatever was free. Mushrooms, berries, certain leaves…"

"Sounds tough," said Emma, grinding her berries in the back of her mouth.

"Oh, it is," agreed Snow.

A breathy scoff caused them all to jump. Henry whirled around, grabbing onto Emma, but she stood up too quickly, and slipped from his grasp.

"It's the horse!" she exclaimed.

Behind them stood a tall dark horse, it's black coat gleaming in the sunlight. It stood, pressed against the trees, watching them closely, deep huffs shooting from its nose. Emma stepped away from the others and inched towards it, her arm outstretched.

"Emma," called Charming. He stood too and stepped around Henry, following Emma to the horse.

As Emma approached, the horse moved, causing her to jump; but he only walked closer to her, speeding up the process to the moment when her light hand pressed against his snout. Emma relaxed instantly and ran her fingers over the horse's short hairs. Snow struggled to her feet and pulled Henry up with her. He followed at her side as they came to stand beside James.

"I think he's following me," said Emma.

James stepped closer and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I think this is the same horse I saw when I fell that night," Emma explained. "The night Ruby turned into a wolf. He kicked me when a different wolf attacked him. I can't believe he survived that."

As she spoke, Henry turned his head and noticed a large gash in the horse's side. Snow noticed it too and released her hold on him, walking over to the animal and placing her hand close to the cut.

"This doesn't look too bad," she assessed.

"I didn't know there were horses in Storybrooke," said Charming, walking over to his wife.

"Well, this is the first and only one I've seen," said Emma taking her hand away from the animal's nose.

"Can I pet him?" Henry asked.

"Of course," said Emma holding her hand out to him.

Henry trotted forward and took Emma's hand. He raised his other and placed it gently on the horse's wet snout. He laughed. The short breaths of the animal tickled the skin over his wrist and sent a warm air down his arm. Emma ran her fingers through his hair as they stood in front of the animal. His hairs were short and felt good against the palm of Henry's hand. He looked into the horse's black eyes. Henry wondered what the animal was thinking. He seemed smart. Henry had no idea how he knew that, but it was just the aura the horse gave off. Maybe it was his superpower. Like the way he knew when Mary Margaret was sad, or when his mother was lying to him, or when he had known that Emma did not truly believe him about the curse. This horse was smart and he wanted something, or needed something, or was trying to tell them something.

They stood with the horse for almost fifteen minutes. Henry mostly stroked his face and side but he listened intently as the adults talked. They spoke about nothing really, each seeming to steer clear of anything deep or emotional, afraid to break the peace they lay over them. They talked mostly about what the horse meant and where it had come from, but Henry noticed they all seemed more relaxed. They smiled a lot more.

Soon the sun in the forest turned into a darker orange, signifying that the sun was going down. It was coming to the end of their little escape. In moments they would have to return to the outside world of pain and responsibility; a world of continuing sadness for Henry. Charming took his hand, pulling him away from the horse. Sensing that his time with them was over, the horse turned away slowly and swung its tail as it traveled back into the forest. Snow and Emma brought up the rear, stepping around the still water of the pond and back onto the path.

"Do you need help?" Henry heard behind him. Emma offered her arm out and Snow smiled happily.

The two inched closer together, Emma looping her arm with her mother's to help her walk. Henry wondered if Snow really needed help or if she just wanted Emma to hold her. If it was the latter, then he could not blame her. Hadn't he done the same thing when Emma had carried him out of the forest the last time? Charming squeezed Henry's hand. Henry looked up and saw his grandfather smiling down at the path before them. But he wasn't smiling at the dirt and crushed leaves; he was smiling at the scene behind them. Henry couldn't help but grin back.

As they walked Henry grew quieter. The wooden post, signaling the end of the path loomed ahead of him and he dreaded the moment when they would pass through it. The hours they had spent in the forest were the best hours Henry had shared with any of them. It was a place where Snow and Emma did not fight, as he felt was bound to happen the more time they spent in the house. Whatever happened in the woods the other night had not strengthened their relationship. The tension he had felt rippling off the two of them was blinding especially since they both looked so confused. It was like Emma wanted to hate Snow, but she couldn't, and that made her even angrier. And Snow had just been mad since she had woken from the curse. Frankly, the attack in the diner should not have surprised him; it was bound to happen at some point. He just feared now that the smooth progress he felt they had all made would be wiped clean the moment their feet touched the sidewalk.

When he and Charming passed through the posts, Henry held his breath and closed his eyes. Nothing happened, yet. They walked quietly with Emma and Snow trailing along behind them.

"I was thinking I would cook dinner tonight," said Snow from behind. "I don't think any of us has had a proper meal in days."

"That sounds good," Emma answered quietly.

"Can we have meatballs?" Henry asked, turning his head to look at his grandmother. She smiled, and winked.

"Anything you want," she promised.

Henry smiled. Snow was right; he hadn't eaten dinner in three days. All of the commotion had put food well on the back burner. Just then, Henry's stomach grumbled. He pictured a plate piled high with thin spaghetti and perfectly round meatballs. They were bound to be perfect; Mary Margaret never created anything less. As they rounded the corner onto the correct street, Henry pondered on why Storybrooke seemed so eerily quiet. Of course, he didn't expect to see people making their way down the street as they used to, but he did think he'd see some activity, an indication that life still existed post-curse.

James dug into his pocket and took out a set of keys. "You want to open the door?"

Henry reached for them excitedly, listening to them jangle as Charming handed them off to him. He took them and hurried down the rest of the way. As Henry reached the chipped door it swung open and Prince Phillip stepped out, looking disturbed. Henry jumped back. Phillip, spotting Henry first, lifted his eyes and searched for the rest of Henry's family. Finding them, he ran down the stoop and onto the sidewalk. Henry ran after him.

"King James," he panted. "The house is on fire!"

James, Snow, and Emma's necks all snapped to the right, searching the sky for flames. Phillip waved his hands before them quickly.

"No, no. The witch's house, they set it on fire," he said. James snapped back to attention.

"Who?" he asked, brusquely. He marched past Phillip and grabbed Henry's hand, pulling him along.

"I don't know, the town's people. They're very upset, but I know you did not want us to take action."

James snatched the keys from Henry's hand and pulled him to the truck. Henry climbed in the back, feeling his heart rate rising. The witch? Did that mean Regina? Was his home on fire? Henry shook his head. The mansion was not his home anymore, the apartment was. Here, with his family, this was home. Snow and Emma hurried to the truck. Snow slid into the front while Emma climbed in next to Henry. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Her arms were tight, the muscles bulging, pressing hard around his shoulders.

"Where are Thomas, Lancelot, and Frederick?" said James, gesturing for Phillip to get in the car.

"There. But it's not enough. The crowd is out of control."

"Mulan, Red, and the others are there I assume."

"Yes, the dwarves too," answered Phillip.

James jumped in slamming the door shut and hit the gas pedal fiercely. They sped through the streets at a breakneck speed, which was fine as there were no cars on the road. Henry hoped it was not as bad as the Prince was making it seem, however, when they turned onto Mifflin Street, his heart sank and he found himself wrong. The crowd was huge, as if all of Storybrooke had flocked to one area. The huge body of people moved like one, each of them leaned towards the house, angry shouts reverberating off of the glass of the truck. As if that weren't enough to terrify Henry, the entire street was lit in the blaze of his home. The entire structure was turning black in the smoke of a roaring fire. Flames licked the side of the house, rising out through the windows like claws reaching for the sky. Henry shrunk into Emma's body. She was holding him tighter now, her arms like chains, wrapping up every inch of him. Snow turned in her seat, her bright eyes lit by the light of the fire.

James slammed on the brakes and they all jumped out. Emma pulled Henry out of the car; he was surprised, he expected Emma to tell him to stay put, but he supposed she was not about to let him out of her sight, and she was not one to sit in the car and wait. Arm tightly pressed to his chest, they ran after Snow and James. Phillip had already disappeared into the crowd. Henry wanted to close his eyes. The noise was louder than he could have ever imagined. The voices, the voices, all melding together to form one viciously angry body sent his spine trembling.

"Snow!"

Snow and James turned coming face-to-face with Red. She panted slightly and on her forehead was a thin line of sweat.

"We don't know how it started, but we can't stop it."

"What are they trying to accomplish?" Emma cried.

Red gave her a look, possibly trying not to say anything in front of Henry, but he knew. They were all there to kill his mother.

Snow lashed out and gripped Red by the shoulders. "Red, where is Regina?"

"I think she's still in the house-"

Red barely finished her sentence when Snow took off. Charming dived, trying to grab onto his wife but she dashed away, leaving him stumbling to the ground.

"SNOW!" he screamed after her, but her bob of dark hair had already disappeared.

Without giving Henry time to react, Emma slid out of his grasp and tore away from him. She ran straight into the crowd, disappearing.

"Emma!" Henry yelled. He ran forward trying to catch her- he needed her- but before he had gotten too far strong arms lifted him into the air.

"No! Emma!" Henry screamed. He kicked wildly, but it was to no avail; James' strong arms kept him lofted in the air, running him away from the crowd.

"Do not let him out of your grasp!" James ordered shoving Henry into Red's arms. She locked onto him, dragging him even further from the mass of bodies.

James turned and followed Emma and Snow into the crowd. Henry screamed and thrashed in Red's arm. In seconds his family had disappeared into a swell of fire and bodies. Moments ago he had been enjoying a peaceful walk, safely tucked into each of their arms and now they were gone. How had he let them get away? He knew something bad was going to happen, he could feel it, so why hadn't he stopped them?

A loud scream came from the front of the crowd and Henry watched in horror as the right side of the house, the windows of his mother's bedroom, collapsed. Wood splintered and gave a defeated cry. A puff of black smoke puffed out, drowning the crowd. The ground shuttered as parts of the house hit the lawn, lighting the bushes out front on fire.

"MOM!" Henry screeched, not knowing which one he was really screaming for.


	25. Putting Out Fires

**What is it? Five more days? Woohoo! I'm so excited! **

* * *

Like a twenty-foot wave the heat hit Emma so forcefully she almost stumbled back. She struggled through the moving crowd. It undulated, arms swinging, screams echoing in her head. She pushed people aside, shoving bodies away from her. She heard someone scream her name and a little part of her told her to turn around because running into a house fire was a horrible idea. It could only end badly. But every other fiber of Emma's being charged through the hundreds of people. When Snow had taken off, it was like she had run away from Emma. The thin tether holding them together had snapped and slapped Emma as it recoiled. One moment she had Snow White looped in her arm, the next she was gone, headed straight for an ominous fire.

Up ahead, Emma saw her short black head dive through the front door; for a woman with a hurt leg, she moved fast. Emma lunged, like a runner, over someone's fallen body. Her foot touched down on the hard bricks of the walkway and in three long strides she was propelled through the door. Emma coughed immediately, the sweltering heat unbearable. She thought with all the fire, seeing would not be on the list of current problems, but the flames burned so brightly, they seemed to burn her very eyes away. Emma squinted, lifting an arm over her head as if she were outside, blocking the sun from her vision- as if it would help.

"SNOW!" Emma called.

She could not even imagine why Snow would come in here, but she knew she had to get Snow out. Whether or not Emma was ready to admit it, Snow was her friend and her mother. She had just gotten her back after almost thirty years. She had just learned that she was not truly abandoned; at least not in the way she had been led to believe. Their relationship may not have been steady, she may have still felt the lingering traces of utter hate, but she was not about to let her mother go that easily. She was damn sure not about to lose her in a fire.

Emma's jacket was already starting to stick to her. Getting away from the front door, where the smoke was making its way out in billowing clouds, Emma ran deeper into the house. She jumped the two short steps that brought her into the dining room. The broken chandelier still sat shattered on the table, which had yet to catch fire. Emma whipped around in her spot, searching for Snow. The house gave a great shutter and like a skyscraper collapsing, a great moaning noise came from the left. Emma turned in time to catch the roof collapsing over where she knew the office sat- had sat.

"Emma!" she heard right before a body crashed into her.

Emma threw her arms out and wrapped them around a muscular man. Steadying them both, Emma found herself once again in the arms of James. In the fire, his blue eyes sparkled. He grabbed Emma's arm roughly and yanked her from the dining room.

"Get out!" he yelled to her, pointing to the door.

"I have to get her," she shouted back. She pulled her arm out of his grasp and doubled over in a fit of coughing. Breathing in the smoke was like swallowing sand, every breath scratched at her throat and burned her esophagus.

James grabbed her again, using her moment of weakness against her. As he pushed Emma toward the door a yell caught their ears. Emma straightened up and sprinted around James heading for the stairs. Hot on her heels, James took the stairs three at a time. They reached the landing and spotted a body diving into a bedroom. James took Emma's hand and pulled her behind him. The fire had consumed almost everything but the floor of the upstairs. It hadn't just been the office that had collapsed, Emma now realized it was the entire left side of the house. Henry's door still stood intact, but the red flames licked at it, its tendrils crawling over the beige walls, chasing them. James pulled them into a spare bedroom.

They found Snow on the other side of the large carpeted bedroom, pulling the closet doors open. James leapt forward, catching her around the waist and pulled her away. Like Snow was nothing more than a rag doll, he dragged her from the room, pulling Emma close. As they approached the stairs, Snow started to fight.

"Stop!" she screamed. "I have to find her!"

James dropped Emma's hand to get a better grip on his wife, but Emma wondered if Snow even realized they were there. She struggled against James, calling Regina's name. Emma lunged and wrapped her arms around Snow, helping James keep her in place. The house rumbled again and the wooden beams above them screamed. As one of them tumbled to the floor, James tackled both Snow and Emma pushing them all into a wall.

"Emma, go!" James ordered.

The way he said it, the utter command in his voice, Emma knew it was not something she could argue with; but she could find a loophole. Emma took Snow's hand and ran as fast as she could down the stairs. With James half- carrying Snow, they made it quickly down the stairs.

"Regina!" Snow cried in their arms, but James pushed them harder out of the door.

The air outside was not much better, but Emma gasped, desperate for it. As the clean air mingled with the particles in her throat she choked, stumbling from the door and into the shadowy grass of the mayor's front yard. Awkwardly holding onto Snow and James, Emma tripped, just in time, as a glass bottle soared over her head and smashed against the side of the house. She turned, watching as James stood from the grass and grabbed the lapels of a tall man with dark black hair. The man pushed James away and swung, not catching James with his full force but with enough to send her father tumbling back. Furious, Emma pushed herself up and arched her body, spinning and landing a perfect first against the man's nose. He feel back, collapsing against three other people and Emma hobbled away, clutching her burning fist. She bit her lips, feeling tears welling in her eyes. The guy had a nose like a rock. Snow came up beside her and gently took her hand.

"Everyone stop!" James ordered with his hands outstretched.

His voice was low over the rumbling of the house behind him and the wailing sirens of a fire truck. Emma wondered who had thought to bring it. Men dressed in their typical uniforms charged forward pulling Emma, Snow, and James away from the house and preparing their hoses. James pushed away from them, letting the firemen do their jobs while he stepped back into the crowd shouting at people to leave and move away. As the blaze died under the thick jets of water attacking it, the crowd seemed to fizzle out, their overwhelming anger drowning under the noise of the spraying water. Most people hurried away, grabbing onto their spouses, eyeing a glowering King James as he approached every single person and demanded they leave at once. Emma watched people wilt under her father's powerful glare, bow deeply, and beg for forgiveness. Still he did nothing but march up and down the lawn, forcing Storybrooke's citizens away.

Emma turned, searching for Snow. She spotted her running back towards the house. Emma was about to follow after her, when Snow slowed down and approached a fireman and talked with him seriously. Sighing with relief, Emma turned away, running her hands through her hair. Across the street was still a small crowd of people. Having to squint into the darkness now that the fire was calming, Emma realized it was Ruby—Red- and some of the dwarves. With them was Henry.

"Shit," Emma breathed to herself. She ran across the street and straight up to Red who coddled a sobbing Henry in her arms.

"Look, it's your mother," said Red, drawing Henry's eyes up.

He stood up and sped over to Emma, colliding with her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Emma wrapped her body around his, as she always did and sighed as Henry's body shook uncontrollably.

"Is she dead?" Henry screamed through his sobs.

Emma got down on her knees and took a good look at her son. What had she done to him? His eyes were blood red and puffy as if he were sick and hadn't slept in days. Mucus ran down from his nose and his cheeks puffed with the shaky gasps he was drawing in. Her hands shook, with Henry's full body trembling. This was the complete mental breakdown she was afraid of happening, the one she knew was coming.

"I don't know," she whispered to him, drawing her son down into her lap. Emma cradled him right there in the middle of the street, feet away from his destroyed home.

As much as she wanted Regina dead and forever out of their lives, Emma knew that she would never be able to do it. The woman had taken care of her son for his entire life and he had turned out all right- a little damaged, but who wasn't. Emma was grateful for that. She could never get those ten years back with Henry, but at least she knew he was provided for and he had been safe. And Emma knew Henry loved her. Regina was his mother, there was no getting around that; for the rest of her son's life, Regina would be his second mother. What kind of person would Emma be if she killed her son's mother? No, Emma would never hurt Henry like that. She never wanted him to feel the way he did now, confused and terrified. A hand pushed gently on Emma's shoulder.

"She wasn't inside. You should take him home," said Snow above her.

Emma looked up and nodded. Snow gave her a sad smile and then walked away going over to Red. Scooping Henry up into her arms, like a baby, Emma stood and found her father.

"Give me your keys," she said to him.

James gave her a stern look and shook his head. "The truck's open. We're coming with you."

Emma turned and glanced back at Snow who was engaged in conversation with Red and the dwarves. "It doesn't look like Snow's ready to leave and I have to get—"

"Get in the truck, Emma," James cut her off. He stalked away, his back swaying as he went over to his wife.

Clamping her mouth shut, Emma carried Henry over to the truck and slid him into the back seat. As Snow had done earlier- God, was it still the same day- Henry clutched onto Emma's clothing, refusing to let her go. Emma climbed in and placed Henry's head down on her lap. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm so sorry, Henry," she whispered over his hiccups. "I promise I'm going to fix everything. It's all going to get better."

It was an empty promise and she knew it. She could not guarantee that things would not get worse; and the way Snow and James marched to the truck signified that she had indeed lied about her promise. They got in the car silently. James turned the ignition, the muscles in his back bulging. Emma had never seen David mad, and she had barely seen James truly angry, but she supposed this was what it looked like. There was a mask of calm over him that might have fooled an unknowing person, but underneath, his body tensed with fury. Snow stared at him, her jaw clenched tightly. Emma wondered if something had happened outside of the car, or if the two had just silently agreed that they were angry with one another. As they pulled away from the street, Emma looked back, eyeing the blackened house and wondering what on earth they were going to do.

The ride back was quiet. Snow occasionally glared at James out of the corner of her eye, James ignored her, and Emma sat in the middle glancing over at the two of them. Henry had stopped sobbing and had now been reduced to a fit of violent shivering, which Emma assumed was even worse then the crying. She stroked her hands over his cheeks and through his hair, hoping she could just get him to bed. They pulled up to the cub and James stopped the car, turning the ignition back quickly.

"James-" started Snow, but he got out and almost slammed the driver's side door. Snow turned in her seat and licked her lips slowly before getting out herself.

James came around and opened the door for Emma. He reached in, offering to take Henry. Too exhausted to argue, her son shifted into James' arms and was lifted away. Emma followed them all, closing the truck door behind her. Snow opened the door for them and when they entered the apartment James set Henry back to his feet. Henry immediately ran for the couch and buried his face in a pillow. Emma ran over to him and rubbed her hand on his back. She couldn't tell if he was crying, but already she knew it was going to be a long night.

"James, stop ignoring me," said Snow quietly.

Over her shoulder, Emma watched as she and James walked through the sheer white curtain of their bedroom. Already, she could hear their voices.

"Are they having a fight?" said Henry.

His small voice reminded Emma that he was just a child, and all of this was too much. She smiled sadly at him and patted his shoulders.

"How about we go upstairs?" she said, shrugging.

Henry agreed and so she helped him off the couch. As they walked through the small apartment, Henry leaned into her. He was tired. This was the first night in a long time that he seemed almost eager to go to bed. Emma dropped her arm over his shoulder and pushed him along. When they got to the first step, they both jumped.

"What is it that you wanted me to do?" came Snow's voice, loudly.

Emma turned to Henry. "Go upstairs."

Henry nodded with a scared glance at the white curtain. He ran up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. Emma walked to their room, hoping she could run interference before it got too bad. She realized that this was the first time she was hearing her parents fight and a tiny voice in the back of her mind squealed. She had finally found her parents and was now getting to be a part of one of their fights. Her strange enjoyment lasted only a second before James' voice came ringing through the sheet.

"Please, Snow, why don't you tell me what was going on inside your head, because I can't figure out why you would run into a _burning building_."

"I was thinking that someone had to go in there and get her and it wasn't going to be you or anyone else," Snow snapped.

Emma pushed the curtain aside and found Snow and James standing in front of each other on the left side of the bed. In front of her was Snow, a pink heat working its way up her cheeks, but that was nothing compared to James. He was smoldering, the smoke seconds away from shooting out of his ears.

"You're right. It wasn't going to be me. Have you forgotten what she's done to us?"

"James, she's my mother," Snow insisted, holding her hands out in front of her chest.

"Step-mother," he corrected.

Snow huffed and rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter. I am responsible for what happens to her-"

"Guys," Emma interjected, sliding herself into the room.

"You are responsible for four people in this world, Snow, and every single one of them is in this house."

"Stop being naïve," Snow ordered. "You and I both know that we have a responsibility everyone in this town and whether you like it or not, Regina is mine."

"Regina has to get what's coming to her," James snapped.

"And if she's killed, her blood is on my hands. This is my fault. I have to fix it."

"This is not about you!" James roared.

"_Do not yell at me!_" Snow hissed, stepping forward.

"This is about our family, a family you're going to put in jeopardy if you keep wandering away."

Snow scoffed, "I don't need your permission. You are not my father, James."

They had inched much closer now, their voices rising with each turn. Emma stepped further into the room and moved closer, hoping they would notice her and tone it down. She felt awkward about jumping in, something she would have easily done if it were any other couple, but something about watching two people more in love than she even knew was possible argue so vehemently froze her in her place.

"I don't need you to tell me what to do and I don't need you scolding me like a child. I have done perfectly fine taking care of myself, just as I always have."

"I am not David!" James shouted. "I'm not some weak man you can shun or turn away from. I am your husband!"

Snow's eyes welled with tears as she stepped even closer to James. "Well, then start acting like it! Stop trying to be the king-"

"Okay, stop!" shouted Emma, stepping between the two of them. She stuck her arms out, pressing against both of their chests, to push them back, but it was like trying to pry apart two buildings, both of them immoveable.

"I'm trying here, Snow!" James argued, his face growing red. "You're the one who's not talking to me. You insist on doing things alone. If you want me, then want me!"

"That's enough," Emma pushed harder, shoving James back a few steps.

The tears were flowing steadily down Snow's face now and the pain she was feeling was evident. Emma hated seeing her that way, and she had pushed James away, angry at him for making Snow cry. But now, pressed against his chest, Emma noticed how badly he was shaking. His blue eyes dulled with a layer of salty tears, too. He and Snow stared at each other, through Emma, silently communicating, as she noticed they often did, and then he shook his head. Walking out of Emma's arms, James marched to the doorway spinning around twice.

"Where the hell is my sword!" he yelled, his frustration belting out. Perhaps realizing that this was not their castle, he ran a heavy hand over his head and marched straight from the room.

"Do not walk away from me," Snow cried. "James!"

Snow chased him out of the room and jumped when the door slammed in her face. Emma stood behind her and closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe if she closed them, the world could disappear and take all the pain with it. Where had those moments gone, those peaceful moments in the woods where her family had smiled and laughed? Emma opened her eyes and the world had not changed. Snow had not moved from her stance in front of the door. Emma touched her shoulder, but Snow shrugged it away. Emma felt a little hurt, but when she saw the trembled in Snow's bottom lip she dismissed her own emotions. Not sure she could stand the tears, Emma faltered. She wanted to help—she did- but she had no idea what she could do. Snow blinked back a few more tears and then turned away from the door, huffing out a quiet sob. Emma hesitated, wanting to know if Snow would be alright, and then she ran out of the door.

Emma flew down the stairs and out through the final door, hit by how cold the night had become. She wondered when the temperature had dropped and then remembered that she hadn't noticed it because of the fire. Had that really just happened? Three days had gone by and already Emma felt like it had been two months. How could so much happen in three days?

Emma searched the street and found a tall body almost at the end of the block.

"Hey!" she shouted, jogging down the sidewalk. "Hey!"

The figure, which she knew to be James, spun around slowly. When Emma caught up she was struck by how angry he really looked. In the bedroom it had been difficult, the tension causing physical pain for Emma, but out here in the dark, James looked menacing, like he could rip off another human's head without the bat of his eyelashes. Emma put her hands up defensively.

"You can't leave," she said. He didn't say anything, but looked away, clenching his fists at his side. He shook his head.

"Look, I know you're angry. I get it; trust me, I do. You have every right to be. But you can't just leave us."

"Emma," he sighed.

"No," she talked over him. "Everything is just _wrong_ right now, okay. I know emotions are running high and everybody's angry with everyone else, but…My life crap right now. I don't even know what the truth is anymore, I'm an awful mother, and half the time, I'm so scared I can't breathe. I just need something to be constant. And if Snow freakin' White and Prince Charming can't get along then that just means that the world really is the shitties, most god-awful place I thought it was."

James turned to face her now, the anger melting away to be replaced by an awful sadness. His eyes dropped and she saw this man for what he truly was: broken. Emma took a deep breath. She was expressing things she would never usually put into words, but it seemed like James just dragged them out of her. She wanted to tell him the truth; she wanted him to understand.

"I know I'm being really selfish here," she said, bowing her head, "but could you please just go back in there, kiss and make up. For my sake…please."

Emma bit her lip waiting for his response. It was totally selfish, the reason she wanted him to stay. She didn't want them angry with each other and she hated seeing them in pain, but more importantly, she couldn't stand the sight of him walking away from her. Just like when Snow ran off into the fire and Emma had chased after her, barely knowing what she was doing, she felt a tether between herself and James- a paper- thin line that would rupture if he went too far away. And so she wanted him to stay, from now on and forever always close to her. It was something Emma had never felt before. Never in her life, had her own happiness depended on being close to other people. She didn't even truly know how she felt about them yet; she just knew she needed them.

James eyed her for a moment longer, making her hands grow sweatier. Would he reject her? He could turn away at any second and round the corner, severing the flimsy connection they had. Emma was not sure they would ever be able to get it back. But she didn't have to worry because James walked to her and enveloped Emma in his great muscular arms.

Emma relaxed instantly and laid her head on her father's chest. Her father's chest—something she was sure she would never get to say. The feeling was beyond words. To hug a man that wanted nothing from her, just her willingness to be his daughter, was marvelous and it brought tears to Emma's eyes. She scoffed to herself. Now she was crying about hugging men? But Emma let the small line of tears flow freely, savoring each second of contact not knowing when it would happen again; if it would happen again; if she would ever again be able to handle it.

James pulled back and looked down into Emma's eyes. "I would do anything for you, Emma."

Emma could only nod, afraid that her voice might crack if she tried to speak. James chuckled lightly and turned her around, holding her in the pocket he created with his arm draped across her back.

"You're a daddy's girl, you know that," James braved, smiling at her.

"No, I'm not," Emma shot back immediately. It took her a moment to realize that he hadn't meant it as an insult. He had meant it as a compliment, his way of almost claiming her and she claiming him. They belonged to each other.

"Yeah, yeah you are," he said.

Emma rolled her eyes and turned her head away, but a small smile lit her face as she walked alongside her father, back into their home.

* * *

**My gosh. This one was so hard to write. I don't like when I have Snow and James fight, but I think it makes them like every other real couple. But this chapter really was a struggle for me. Let me know what you guys think. Nos vemos pronto!**


	26. Conversations

Snow roamed around the bedroom blinking furiously. She scolded herself and demanded that she not cry. She ordered it. She and James had only really fought a handful of times in their lives together and after every one she usually felt like throwing something or punching him in the face. She had a temper and she knew it. But within moments, either she or James would swallow their pride and admit that they were wrong or both being stupid. In the past, they had made up and gotten over it, like the argument had never happened. Now, Snow only felt like weeping. She walked back and forth, turning whenever she came to a wall and picking up random things only to put them back down in the same second. She had truly thought that things were better-that after realizing that James cared about her more than anyone else in the world, they were okay. She knew she was wrong when he demanded she get in the truck.

She had turned away from Red, confused. Let Emma go, she had said. She had to find Regina. A hard look she had rarely ever seen came into his eyes and he ordered her to get in the truck. Her temper had flared at that and she'd opened her mouth to argue but James simply turned his back on her and walked over to the car. Without even a glance at Red or the rest of her friends, Snow followed after him to find out what the problem was. She still didn't know.

Of course, running into the Mayor's flaming house was probably a bad idea, and with her hurt leg, she had definitely increased her chances of killing herself, but she had to do it. The curse was enacted because of her, because she could not keep a secret when she was younger. Of course, she thought it was a horrible thing for Regina to hold over her, but nevertheless, it was the reason they were all in Storybrooke now: Snow had caused her step-mother heartache and pain. She wanted Regina to stop ruining her life, but Snow also knew that death by fire and mob was not something she could stand by and let happen. Not to anyone and not, especially, to Regina. She didn't understand why James couldn't comprehend that.

Snow stopped when she heard the creak of the front door opening. She dropped the brush that she had been relocating and stepped through the curtain into the hall between her bedroom and the kitchen. Emma and James stepped through the door both with little smiles on their faces. Snow wished she had a camera. This shot would prove to her forever, that Emma was indeed _their_ Emma. She looked more like her father- blonde haired, bright-eyed, tall and lean- than Snow could ever have imagine. As the door shut, both looked up and found her standing there staring at them.

Emma looked everywhere except their faces. "I'm um…going to check on Henry—put him to bed."

He hurried up the stairs, giving Snow a quick glance as she went. Snow wondered then if Emma had gone outside to bring James back, to get them to resolve their problem. Her heart gave a strong beat as she thought of Emma's caring.

Looking back at her husband, Snow shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Maybe it was just the fight, or perhaps Snow had never really looked at him lately, but he looked rundown and exhausted. He kept his eyes downcast, nodding slowly as if coming to some understanding with himself. He was still upset. She crossed her arms and took a deep breath.

"I'm angry _all the time_, James," she said to him. Her voice seemed disconnected travelling from her position to him all the way by the door. He looked up, finally.

"Snow—"

"No," she objected, holding a hand out to make him stop. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk. You wanted to know how I feel, well, I'm angry. I am furious all the time. And I don't even know why."

James tilted his head and grabbed the back of his neck with his palm, holding it there tightly.

"I'm angry, too," he admitted. "I just don't think…I don't think I'm angry at you."

Snow ducked her head. It sure felt like he was angry with her. He had made it pretty clear that he was more than upset with her.

"I don't know, maybe I needed that—maybe I just needed to yell at someone, at you," he said. "I feel like I don't know where I stand anymore. I don't know who I am."

"You're James. You're the king; you're my husband," she shrugged.

"Am I?" he threw his arms up and walked around in a small circle, collecting his thoughts. "I don't feel like it. Snow, I used to know everything about you. I could take one look at you and know what you were thinking. I knew if you wanted a hug, or a kiss, or were stressed, or needed to talk. I knew if you just needed me to go away. Now, I look at you and I _don't_ know. It's like I can't connect with you."

Snow bit her lip, holding her chest in place. If she didn't cry before, she was not about to cry now. He was right; they weren't connecting. They used to have whole conversations with just one glance. One look, and she knew exactly what to do. Now, she hadn't even known they still had a problem.

"And then I think of who I was for the last twenty-eight years—who I wasn't and I'm just disgusted. I want it all to go back to how it was. I look at you and I can tell you're thinking about something, but you just won't tell me and I don't know if its because you don't trust me or don't want to tell me. Sometimes I wonder if its because you don't love me—"

Snow marched up to him, untangling her arms as she approached and smacked James hard across the face. He recoiled, lifting his hands too late, to protect himself. Snow grabbed hold of his chin in her hand and snapped his head so that they were looking right into each other's eyes.

"Don't you ever say that again!" she demanded, feeling a hot passion welling inside of her. "Don't you ever even think that again."

James shocked wide eyes relaxed, falling back to their normal size. He stared down at her, hanging on to every word she said.

"I love you with all my heart, with everything that I am. I loved you even when I didn't know who you were. You are my soul mate, my husband. We may not be entirely whole right now, but you are still a part of me that I will never be able to live without. Don't ever forget that," she said.

James gave a satisfied sigh and then dipped his head, bringing their lips together. It felt like forever since Snow had kissed his soft lips, her body held against him by his strong hands. She reached her hands up, one hand cupping the cheek that must have still burned from her strike, while the other ran its thumb across the deep line of the scar she had given him over twenty-eight years ago. By the time they died, Snow imagined his poor face would hardly be recognizable. It seemed like she would never stop hurting him. James pulled away and pressed his forehead into hers. Snow pushed herself closer against his body, feeling a strong desire to lock onto his lips and never let go.

"I still want to talk," he breathed to her.

"So let's talk," she said.

James dipped and slid his arms under her bottom, lifting her into the air until she could wrap her legs around his waist. He carried her off into the room while Snow peppered kisses on his cheeks and lips, with particular focus on his mouth. Mindful enough to close the curtain, James finally dropped down onto her bed, sitting straight up with Snow in his lap.

"If you want to find Regina, then we'll look for her," he told her, caressing her chin and neck. "We'll do whatever you want."

Snow shook her head. "I don't want to talk about Regina."

Her fingers darted forward, working the buttons of his shirt apart. As James pulled her in for another kiss, Snow slid the shirt from his shoulders, flicking it across the bed. She reached down and grabbed the hem of James' undershirt and pulled it up, lifting it over his head. He let go of her only to wriggle out of the white T-shirt, but his hands found her waist again in seconds. Taking a breath, Snow looked down at her husband's bare chest and froze. On his shoulder was the deep, jagged edged scar of a sword from long ago. She traced it slowly with each of her fingers, wondering how painful it must have been. The weight of an unconscious James filled her arms and she found herself unable to breathe.

"Don't look at them, Snow," he said, taking her hand and pulling it away from his chest. He turned his face and kissed her palm lightly.

"How can I not?" she whispered, finally letting stray tears fall down her face.

James shushed her and kissed her cheeks catching the drops with his lips. "Come here," he said.

He pulled back the covers of her bed and turned, sliding her off of him and onto the cool mattress. Sliding out of his jeans, James crawled over and got in on the other side. Snow took off her shirt and pants as well, dropping them beside the bed and slid as close as she could, burying her face into James' neck. He wrapped one arm around her and used the other to rake his fingernails lightly over the skin of her bare arm. Snow closed her eyes and imagined they were back in their castle, laying in their enormous bed, but cuddled close together, both needing the other's body for warmth and security.

"We're going to get through this," James whispered to her.

On the brink of sleep, Snow hummed, enjoying the feeling of his breath against her hair.

"I love you," she mumbled.

She thought she heard him return her love.

* * *

In the morning, Snow felt strangely calm. She woke up on her back, James lying beside her on his stomach, one arm draped over her abdomen. Snow turned slightly and petted his hair. Talking was good for them; it felt like weight had finally been pulled from her lungs and Snow could breathe a little better. James groaned and turned his face to hers, eyes squinting against the streaming light of the sun.

"Morning," he grunted.

She smiled at him and leaned in for a small kiss. He returned it enthusiastically and pulled himself onto her. Snow gave a breathy laugh and wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer. Her lips parted and James deepened their kiss, squeezing his warm hand against her waist. A slam from the kitchen startled them and they pulled apart.

James laughed, "The kids are up."

Snow giggled, pushing him away. He enjoyed saying that way too much. They dressed quickly, throwing on T-shirts and shorts. Snow fixed the bed as James pulled his undershirt over his head.

"I really wish I had my sword," he pouted suddenly. Snow looked up and gave him a look.

"Why?"

"Well, I'll probably need it with the way things are going and it's just strange not having it beside the bed," he said.

"I don't think you'll find it here," said Snow following him out into the kitchen. Emma and Henry were already seated at the table, overflowing bowls of cereal in front of them. They waved.

"I just feel naked without it," James finished. He reached into a cabinet and pulled two more bowls out and then led them to the table.

"Without what?" grumbled Emma through a mouthful of Cheerios.

"My sword," he answered sullenly. He poured two bowls of cereal for himself and Snow.

"Oh," said Emma slowly. She grew very quiet and looked down at her bowl with a strange, startled look in her eyes.

Snow took her bowl from James. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Emma swallowed. "I just—I just know where it is…"

James stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "How could you know where it is?"

"I—I just know," she stumbled. "I could tell you where to find it if you watch Henry for a couple of hours."

"Hey!" Henry objected.

"Why do you need us to watch him," asked Snow.

"I need to look for someone."

"No," said James. "Emma, I know you heard our discussion last night. No one in this family is doing anything alone. We're a team now. If one of us needs something, we'll all help; we stay together."

"Yeah," agreed Henry, Fruit Loops dropping from his mouth as he tried to talk. "I want to help."

Emma sat back with a frustrated sigh. James was right, of course, they should not split up anymore, but she also knew that Emma did not like being told what to do anymore than she did. Snow tried to give Emma an encouraging smile, but Emma turned away, thinking it over in her own head.

"Fine," she huffed, "but your sword comes second."

"Deal," James shrugged.

Snow smiled into her bowl, marveling at how easy that conversation had been. It was almost normal—almost. There were still traces of tension and awkwardness, but it gave Snow hope that one day it would all be gone. She ate quickly wondering who Emma would have them searching for.


	27. Normal

Breakfast was so normal Henry almost forgot to be afraid. Snow stood at the counter in the kitchen preparing them all muffins because as she said, at the rate things were going, who knew when they were going to eat next. Grandpa Charming sat next to him grinning at Emma over his spoon. Emma kept her eyes purposefully focused on her food, but she seemed much more relaxed, like she was okay for the first time in days. Henry sat there quickly, shoveling loop after loop of cereal into his mouth. His grandmother was right; chances were, he would not be eating dinner tonight. That would make it the third night in a row.

It was strange the way Henry's days went now. With Regina, he was always on a schedule. Wake up at 7:30 sharp, dress, breakfast at 8 just in time to get him to school before the bell rang. After school, he was to take the bus at 2:16 and be home by 2:30. By 3:00, he needed to start his homework and have it completely done by 5:30. Dinner at 6:30 every night followed by a bath and bed at 8. It got a little more exciting on Wednesdays when he had to walk to her office after school. Then, he'd do his homework while she ruled over Storybrooke, catch dinner, and be at his hour-long appointment with Archie.

It really hadn't changed that much when Emma had arrived. Mostly, he'd just sneak out or walk when he was supposed to be on the bus, but he still ate dinner at 6:30 and he was always in bed by 8. Since the curse had broken everything had changed. He woke up first, but waited until Emma dragged herself out of bed. They ate breakfast, usually, in silence. And then they would attend whatever it was they had scheduled. After that, all hell would break loose and the day would stretch out into a long line of miserable, painful, and unanticipated occurrences. As had happened the last two days, Henry would fall asleep too exhausted to think about the fact that he hadn't eaten lunch or dinner.

In fact, last night he had gone to bed hungry too.

The bedroom door had opened and Henry poked his head out of the pillow he had been covering his ears with. Emma slid in, shutting the door slowly to muffle the sound. She looked at him with a sad smile.

"I heard screaming," he said.

Emma nodded and padded over to him. She lowered herself onto the bed and petted his head. With her fingers in his hair, she sighed heavily and looked at the door. It was look of longing and sadness.

"Are they going to make up?" he asked quietly.

"I hope so, kid."

Henry looked at his mother. She had still not glanced over at him and he wasn't even sure she was conscious of the way she stroked his scalp. Emma looked so helpless and lost. Standing up quickly, Henry walked across the room and opened the door. Voices floated up the stairs and into the tiny room, they still sounded angry.

"Henry, what are doing? Close it," Emma whispered.

"I think they are making up," he told her.

Emma stood up and walked over with every intention of closing the pockmarked door. She took the handle from Henry and was about to shut it when they heard Snow's voice.

"I am furious all the time," she said.

Emma hesitated and lowered her head, listening intently. Before she got a chance to close it, Henry dropped down to his knees and crawled out of the room without making a sound. Emma hissed his name but he kept going until he was passed the landing of the staircase, hidden by the bars of the banister. From there, he had a clear view of Charming's back. If his grandfather turned around and looked up, he wouldn't be able to see Henry in the dark.

Henry looked back at Emma and motioned for her to follow him. He imagined that she would give him a stern look and demand that he get back in the room, but in truth, he knew she wouldn't. She wanted to listen just as badly as he did. Looking uncomfortable, Emma finally got down on her hands and knees and crawled softly, sidling up to Henry until she was almost on top of him. He enjoyed the warmth of her body against his. They laid their heads on their arms and listened.

He did not understand all of it, especially when his grandfather talked about how he didn't know who he was. When Snow marched over and slapped Charming, both Henry and Emma jumped. The slap was sharp and precise and he imagined it must have really stung. They had a good view of Snow's face then and Henry was sad to see how upset she looked, but in the end Snow and Charming kissed and that was when Emma had finally pulled him off of the floor and back into the room.

Now they were finishing breakfast and for the first time, the silence was not awful. It was almost comfortable, like they all did not mind being in close proximity to each other. It seemed like the start of a good day. Of course, Henry held his breath, hoping he might be able to see the other shoe dropping.

* * *

The walk down Storybrooke's sidewalks was also comfortable. Emma was moving a little too fast for Henry's liking but he kept up, taking almost three steps for each of her long hurried strides. She was nervous; he could tell by the way she squeezed his hand and held him close to her. Her eyes darted back and forth across the street but he found that he wasn't scared.

For someone who was searching for someone, Emma seemed to know exactly where she was going. They moved down the streets, walking down Main Street at a fast clip. They turned at the last block and came onto the quiet street where Granny's Bed and Breakfast sat hidden behind it's overgrown bushes. Snow and Charming kept up behind them, both staying quiet and letting Emma lead the way.

As they approached, Henry realized that they were heading directly for the B&B and wondered if they were looking for Red and Granny, which he was sure didn't make any sense because they had just seen them yesterday morning. He didn't know who else would be at the inn; everyone in Storybrooke had their own homes, for the most part, and Granny had never really gotten any customers except Emma and August. Henry reeled. August? Were they looking for him? He suddenly remembered Snow asking about Pinocchio before she attacked Gepetto. The old man said he had yet to find him.

Emma led them up the cracking front steps and over the rotten leaves strewn over the wooden porch. Slowly, she opened the door and poked her head inside. The inn was just as Henry had seen it all his life. The wooden floors sat scuffed, though Henry could not understand why. The place had only ever had two customers, both of whom hadn't spent much time. The counter to the left was covered in loose papers weighed down with a skin of gray dust. The wall of keys in the back sat lonely, most of them having never been matched with their respective locks. Though the sun streamed through the windows, heavy curtains cast a dull mood over the house. They heard voices in the distance.

"Hello?" Emma called.

The voices stopped, broken by Emma's interruption and the house grew strangely quiet. Snow pressed up against Henry, placing a light hand on his shoulder. The four of them stood in the doorway, peeking their heads around corners looking for the bodies of the voices.

"Who are you?!"

The sudden outburst caused them all to jump. They turned and found Granny standing in the foyer to the right, a long steak knife protruding from her hand. She held it high above her head, poised to strike, but when she recognized the family she sighed in exasperation and swung her arm down dramatically.

"Granny!" said Snow eyeing the knife.

"Oh, it's you. Hello, girl," she said. She turned her head and yelled, "Red! It's just Mary—eh, Snow!"

"Oh, good," said Red behind them, causing Henry to jump again. "Snow, you scared us."

Red came around and leaned in for a hug but Snow pulled away.

"The knife, Red," she pointed out. Red glanced down at her own blade and shrugged, turning and handing it to Granny.

"You can't be too careful," said the old woman.

Snow and Red embraced quickly and then Red stood back, crossing her arms.

"What are you all doing here?"

"Looking for someone," answered Charming.

"Who?"

Henry, Snow and Charming looked to Emma, who glanced back before answering. "I just need to look upstairs for a minute. Have you been up there?"

Granny returned from the kitchen, hands free of sharp, pointy, blades. She shook her head. "Red and I don't really go up there, our bedrooms are downstairs. Why?"

"I just need to look," said Emma.

She pulled on Henry's arm and he followed her up the stairs. Snow and Charming trailed behind, telling Red and Granny they'd all be right back down. Once upstairs, Emma wasted no time—Henry could not deny it anymore. They were looking for August. She walked right up to his bedroom. The door looked splintered, hanging slightly on its hinges, the lock broken and dangling on the side. Emma paused for a second and seemed to collect herself. She dropped Henry's hand and marched into the room. Emma only made it a few steps before she froze.

Henry and his grandparents followed in after her. Like Emma, they only just entered the room before stopping in their tracks. The room was neat and nicely laid out, curtains drawn to block out the light so that the warm woods of the bed and dresser glowed in a dark orange light.

"What is that?" said Charming standing next to Henry.

Henry knew exactly what it was—or who. On the bed before them was a large, perfectly carved, human statue. It lay on the right side, its head pointed to the ceiling. Even from the doorway Henry could see the eyes, dull blue and perfectly round, like the woodcarver had paid special attention to them. The lines of the nose were carved diligently but plugged, emphasizing that the carving was just a carving and so could not breathe. It was not real. August. Pinocchio.

Henry gulped.

Emma's face fell slowly as if she could only process fragments of it at a time— The feet, pointed upwards in their black leather shoes, not a twitch in the toes appearing; the legs stiff and unbendable; Pinocchio's chest lay flat, his last breath stuck in his now frozen lungs; and the face trapped in a everlasting attempt at life, struggling forever to breathe in the still air of the room.

Henry felt tears tickling at the back of his eyes. He stepped back, pushing himself into Snow. She automatically wrapped her arms around his chest and held him tightly. Emma stepped forward, tentatively at first, but once she started she hurried over to the bed and sat beside the statue—beside Pinocchio.

"August?" she whispered to him, as if it would bring him back.

"That's August?" said Snow incredulously. Her arms floated down to her side and she walked around Henry, her mouth hanging open as she approached the bed.

"I don't understand," said Charming. He was still standing next to Henry, arms crossed and a look between horror and confusion dawning on his face.

"August is Pinocchio," droned Emma.

She had not even looked over her shoulder when she said it, but stared directly at Pinocchio with her eyes clouding with a thin line of tears. Summing up whatever reserves of bravery he had, Henry went over to his mother and stood at her shoulder. He kept his head down. He did not want to look into the soulless face of the stranger.

"What happened to him?" asked James, quietly approaching.

Emma swallowed and brushed the tears from her eyes before they fell to her cheeks.

"He started turning back a long time ago—into a…into wood. He said he needed magic and that I had to break to curse. That would save him. But I don't get it. Magic is back, isn't it? It came with the damn cloud two, three, days ago. I broke the curse. Why isn't he back? Why isn't he alive?"

Snow shook her head trying to get Emma to stop. "It's alright," she said. "We'll find a way."

"How? I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to save him!" Emma cried, raising her voice a little.

"We _will_ find a way, Emma," said Charming giving her a hard look. Emma looked at him only for a second and then turned back to Pinocchio's inanimate body.

"I made him a promise," Emma whispered. She said it softly with a gentle sadness in her voice; she said it to no one in particular.

"Maybe the Blue Fairy can help," Henry offered.

All three adults gave him surprised looks. Under their scrutiny Henry almost wanted to shrink away, but he stood firm by his idea. The Blue Fairy could help…maybe. In the book, it said that she was the one to bring him to life anyway. After he had "died," washed up on a rocky beach after saving Gepetto, the Blue Fairy had swooped down and bestowed him with the gift of real life for being brave, honorable, and true. If the magic of the cloud was not enough to free him, maybe he just needed more, concentrated on him only. The Blue Fairy could certainly do that—if her magic was working.

"That," said Emma mulling the idea over in her head, "is a really good idea."

Henry smiled a little. Snow nodded, adding her agreement.

"She might be at the church, or at home with the other fairies," said Snow.

Emma gave Pinocchio a stony look and then nodded. "Alright, let's go," she said, turning to push herself off the bed.

"Whoa, wait a second," said Charming, throwing out his hands. "Before we go running through Storybrooke, I think I'd feel more comfortable if we were more protected."

"You want your sword?" it almost sounded like a scoff coming from Emma.

"Yes," he replied, "and I think you should have your sheriff's gun."

"Charming," started Snow.

He held up a hand, "No. I know none of us wants to think about it but Granny's right, we can't be too careful. We don't know what we're going to run into, or who. And we have Henry to think about. We don't know where Regina is and we have to keep him safe. We need to be ready for anything."

Snow clasped her mouth closed and nodded, clearly still not liking the idea of walking around with swords and guns. Emma looked at Henry giving him the same look he'd received when they were sitting in her car about to retrieve his things from his home. _I am never going to let anyone take you from me again, _she had said_. I will do anything I have to do to keep you safe and if that means I go down, you better believe I'm taking everyone with me. _Henry had believed her then and he believed her even more now as she took his hand and squeezed it. Maybe seeing that the curse had not truly saved everyone had renewed her determination to protect him. Henry squeezed back and held eye contact hoping he was conveying what he was thinking.

He didn't want anyone to get hurt.

"Fine," said Emma. She stood swiftly and pulled Henry to her side. "Let's go get them."

* * *

Emma walked like a woman on a mission. She kept her back straight and her head held high as she marched them down Main Street. Henry was practically running, as were Snow and Charming, as they struggled to keep up with Emma's power strides. With the occasional glances Henry was able to throw her way, he saw that her eyes burned. Not as they had burned in the forest the day before, that had been a bright, joyous, singing-spirit kind of burn, like sunlight itself had been streaming from Emma's eyes. Now, Emma's eyes were dark and smoldered with the hot-tempered passion that Henry knew Emma possessed—the one that scared him. One look and Henry knew everything Emma was thinking: she was _going_ to save August, she was _going_ to get her father's sword, and she was _going_ to protect her family no matter the costs.

When they approached the library Henry was surprised. What Charming's sword could be doing in the boarded up library was beyond any understanding Henry could comprehend. Emma walked up to the door and pushed on it, swinging it in and stepping inside. He could not believe how easy it was. In all his life, Henry had never stepped foot in the town library. In retrospect, it was strange; he had been willing to climb into a collapsed mine but had not once forced himself through the locked doors of the only library. He had tried once. Sometime before Mary Margaret had given him the book, Henry had been walking to his mother's office. It was a Wednesday. As he passed the darkly boarded windows, his curiosity hit a peak and he walked right to the doors and pushed as hard as he could. They hadn't budged. Since then, he hadn't tried again.

There was something about the place that gave him an eerie tingling in his spine even then. As he stepped inside with his mother, he looked around, his eyes landing on the piles and piles of yellowing paper and dust-covered books. Strange wallpaper, littered with different languages lined the walls and peeled at their corners. Somehow the library was dark, like the sun could not break through the grime of the windows. On the far wall there was a mirror acting as a sad mural with weird shapes taped to it. It was this that Emma marched over to.

She lifted one hand and pushed on the glass. A light rumbling filled the air as the glass slid up, like a heavy curtain, and disappeared above their heads.

"Whoa," said Henry.

Behind the glass, a metal-grated elevator was revealed. Henry had only seen ones like it in movies. On a panel, just inches from the grating, was a lever, a crank, and a range of complicated-looking buttons. Henry looked back at Snow and Charming and found their eyebrows approaching their hairlines and their mouths revealing their white teeth.

"So," said Emma walking to the panel. "One of you has to control it from up here. You use the lever and push this green button to lower the elevator. I think it will stop itself once it gets to the bottom. It moves pretty fast, so don't push down too hard, but keep your hand on it or it'll stop. I'll ring the bell when I'm ready to come back up."

She said it all quickly, pointing at each of the pieces of machinery in turn. Then she stepped into the elevator and turned to them expectantly.

"I'm coming with you," Charming announced, stepping around Henry and Snow and getting in with Emma.

"I can take care of myself," commented Emma with one eyebrow lifted high.

"So can I," said Charming. "So we'll just take care of ourselves together."

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. Snow laughed a little and then moved closer to the panel eyeing all of the buttons with trepidation.

"Just do what I said, and it'll be fine," Emma instructed. "Turn the crank."

Snow followed her orders and turned to heavy crank with a big grunt. It budged slowly, but eventually untightened. She took her hands off of it and then turned to the lever, pushing it down slightly. The elevator did move fast; in seconds the car sank below the floor of the library and when Henry peered down into the shaft, he could not see the tops of his mother and grandfather's bright blonde heads.

"Step back, Henry," Snow said. She pushed down a little more on the lever.

As they waited in the lobby of the abandoned library, Henry mused on the fact that this might have been the first time he was alone with his grandmother. He stood next to her and watched her hands pushing on the controls of the elevator. It was amazing that he could say she was his grandmother. Snow White—yes, the actual Princess Snow White—was his grandmother. His mother was the daughter of the world's most classic couple. His therapist was really Jiminy Cricket and the waitress who he ordered hot chocolates from was actually Little Red Riding Hood. He had been raised in a town where the stories everyone else was told at bedtime were actually real and he was a part of them. The Evil Queen had raised him herself…

Henry stopped and turned to look at Snow. Emma's words rang through his mind again. _If I go down, you better believe I'm taking everyone down with me._

"Snow?" he said.

"Yes," she turned her head and took her hands slowly from the controls. Charming and Emma must have touched down.

"What are you going to do when you find my mother—I mean, the Evil Queen?" he asked shyly.

Snow thought for a moment and then turned her body fully to face him. She looked him in the face, a sign Henry took as meaning they were equals.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Talk to her maybe. I'd like to talk with her."

"Oh," said Henry nodding slowly. That was something he had expected from her.

Then she said something he hadn't anticipated. "What do you think we should do?"

Henry hesitated, first surprised that she would even bother to ask him something so important, and secondly, because he had no idea what his answer was. He knew he did not want to return to Regina; their life together was over and he wanted to make things work with his new family. But he was not sure how far he wanted her to be. They could throw her in prison, but when he saw Mary Margaret locked behind the puke-green bars of Storybrooke's jail, he thought it was an awful punishment and a terrible way to live. They could take away her magic, but Henry had no idea if that made any sense at all. They could decide to kill her, but then she would be gone, forever.

"I don't know," he finally answered Snow.

The bell to the elevator jingled, startling them. Snow turned quickly and pressed the right buttons to have the car move in the opposite direction. She took her hands and yanked on the lever, this time pushing it up to bring the car back to the library.

"If I ask you for a favor," he said, "would you do it?"

Snow smiled at him. Her face was soft and reminded him so much of Mary Margaret that he did not even need her to answer. He knew she would.

"It's more of a promise, really," he specified.

She smiled even brighter, "What is it?"

Henry paused and glanced at the elevator shaft. "Will you promise not to let Emma kill her?"

Like a window sliding shut, Snow's face fell. She gaped at Henry for a moment and then shook her head.

"Emma's not going to kill anyone. She wouldn't," Snow insisted.

"She already told me she would," said Henry. He had to have the promise before the car came back; otherwise, there was no chance of sealing it. "Will you promise not to let her?"

If possible, Snow looked at him with more sadness than Mary Margaret had ever bestowed on him. She bit her lips for just a second and then nodded.

"I won't let it happen. I promise."

Henry felt so warm after hearing those words he ran over and tackled Snow in one of his hugs. Keeping her hands on the lever she leaned down, curving her body around his in an attempt to return the hug. He pulled away and smiled at her, thankful that he had such a wonderful grandmother when the door to the library opened. Three men entered, darting quick glances over the room and then locking their eyes on Snow and Henry. Looking over her shoulder, Snow did a double take and snatched her arms, like tight coils, around Henry and slammed him into her body. The elevator gave a groan.

"We don't want to hurt you," said the one on the left. He was short, with balding hair and slightly overweight. The one beside him was tall with bright red hairs sticking up from his scalp and so thin Henry thought he would happily give up another dinner to feed the man. To his left, was a harsh looking man, right in the middle height wise, with bulging muscles rippling under his shirt. They all looked like the men that lived in the villages of Storybrooke. Places lined with restaurants and bars where Henry had been forbidden from going.

"What do you want?" Snow barked.

"Just the boy," said the gangly red haired one as if they were bartering fruits. He had a nasally voice that seemed to catch in his throat.

Snow clamped onto Henry so hard his arms hurt; Henry reached around her waist and sealed himself against her.

"Stay away from us," she hissed.

"Look—" said the short one, but he was cut off by the muscular man.

"I'm not wasting time arguing with her," he said and charged forward.

Snow tried to back away, but he moved quickly and latched his strong arms onto Snow and Henry's, yanking them away as if trying to tear a piece of cloth.

"No!" Snow yelped, but the other two had come to help.

The tall one slinked in and lifted Henry into the air, peeling him away from his grandmother. He screamed, terror starting to sink in, and kicked wildly. The muscular man dragged Snow away while she bucked in his arms. He had a great hold of her, her body barely moving as she struggled but he pulled her a little too close to the front desk where Snow reached out, grabbed a old fountain pen and turned, driving the tip into the skin between his neck and the man's right shoulder blade. He hollered in pain, dropping her and staggering to the floor. Distracted, the man holding Henry loosened his grip enough for Henry to wriggle free. Henry fell to the floor with a thud and crawled away like a terrified bug towards the elevator.

The adrenaline in his body pumped fiercely making his muscles jump, but it was still not enough to calm him. The short man ran forward and pried Snow off of the first attacker whom she was clawing to death. Lifted to her feet, Snow maneuvered until she was face to face with her assailant and pushed him as hard as she could forcing him back and into the tall one who had stepped forward chasing Henry. Henry stood and backed away, before realizing he was getting too close to the open elevator.

"Come on!" screamed the bulky man from the floor.

Snow's push had forced them away but it had not stopped them. As she ran to Henry, the two men standing grabbed her arms and pulled her back. The redhead reached passed her, his long arms inches away from Henry when Snow's foot came up and kicked Henry square in the chest.

Time stopped for just a second. Henry felt an incredible weightless in his body and breath. He caught his grandmother's brilliant green eyes seconds before he fell down the shaft.


	28. Disappearing in the Smoke of Daylight

Emma had to laugh at James' face. As the elevator made its way into the depths of the library floor, descending into the core of the earth, it gave a shuddering jolt. Emma, having experienced it once, kept her legs loose and one hand on the grate behind her to steady herself. James however, experienced it full force and tripped forward. He had to throw his arms out to catch himself and still he landed on his knees.

"You're laughing at me?" he asked, as he stood back up, still unsure as the lift zoomed. He smirked with a laugh in his blue eyes.

"Oh yeah," Emma nodded. She looked at him once and turned away watching the metal beams shoot across her vision as they sped past.

"What's wrong, Emma," he asked.

Emma shook her head and pursed her lips. She felt the lift pick up pace and knew that Snow had pushed down harder. She hoped Snow would listen and not press the lever down all the way. Emma was not in the mood to loose her breakfast.

"You're annoyed with me," he guessed.

It was a good guess; actually, it was perfectly correct. Emma really didn't know why it bothered her so much that he was in the elevator with her. She actually really liked James. He was a lot easier to be with than David—and by a lot, Emma meant a hell of a lot. David was just frustrating. Every time she had seen his face, Emma had the conflicting emotions of pity and a strong urge to punch him in his face. Now, when she looked into his face she saw blue. His cerulean eyes seemed to take up his face, even though they were not abnormally large. They shone brightly, like he had just finished having a good laugh, even when he was sad. In his eyes, she saw comfort and friendliness—the things that had annoyed her when she had first met Mary Margaret. She swathe things she could not help falling for.

"I'm fine," she said, crossing her arms, thereby hurting her case.

"Come on, Emma. I think I know you enough to—"

"You don't know me at all," Emma snapped and immediately regretted it. She cursed herself seeing the hurt look on James' face.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean for that to come out."

But James shook his head good-naturedly and waved it off. "No, it's good. Don't ever hold anything back."

Emma sighed and opened her mouth to answer back, but felt a small jolt, signifying the end of their journey down.

"I'm just really frustrated right now, okay," Emma said to the floor.

"Okay,' he answered and that conversation was brought to an end.

As the elevator touched down, a burst of cold air hit them. She had forgotten how cold it was the first time she'd come. From high above them, light filtered through in thin beams almost too weak to give any heat, but just enough to provide a visual. It was just as it had been three days ago, as if the earthquake that had torn through Storybrooke had no effect below the surface. Emma pulled the gate open and stepped out of the lift. James followed, staring around in wonder.

"What is this?"

"We're in the mines. Under Storybrooke," she said.

"I thought the mines collapsed," he said reaching out and touching the stone walls on his left. They glittered with minerals and hidden jewels.

"Not all of them."

"They remind me of the dwarf mines," James commented.

They probably were, thought Emma. Nothing was as it seemed anymore. As of three days ago, libraries were not just libraries, friendly people were also vicious werewolves, and almost every object in sight had some connection to magic. Emma led James around the mines, keeping her eyes peeled. She was much wiser now. If there was some kind of crazy can't-be-real-but definitely-is monster down here, she was going to spot it _before_ it lit her ass on fire. They walked around a corner and suddenly the craggily rocks and jagged edges looked familiar. In the middle of the cavern sat the broken casket of Snow White—her mother. James froze for a second; he moved slowly and approached the casket like it was a hurt child. He touched his hands lightly on the shattered glass and sighed heavily.

"Are you alright?" Emma asked him, coming over and standing at his shoulder.

James nodded but said nothing. His eyes roamed over every inch of the casket. Emma had to admit, it was beautiful. The minerals in the stone around them cast a blue-ish light on the casket. Vines wrapped the base of it looking wooden with dead leaves still hanging from them. Emma wondered what Snow had looked like in the bed of it. By the way James stared, she imagined it was awful.

"It must have been horrible when Henry died," he finally said; his voice was low as if they were standing at a funeral.

Emma looked at him strangely. "It was."

"When I saw Snow in here…my heart literally stopped. Honestly, I wanted to die with her."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," she said. It was exactly how she'd felt seeing Henry, like her life was over. Emma thought that if Henry were to drop dead right now, it would be even worse. With everything he had done for her in just the last three days—kept her sane when she thought she could not handle it. If Henry left her now, she would truly not survive it.

"Sorry. So what?" he said finally turning away from the casket. "Everything from our land just came here and is sitting in the mines."

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. I think there's more stuff in Gold's shop than there is down here, really."

She made a mental note to storm into his shop whenever she got a chance. That backstabbing, manipulative bastard, she would make sure he paid for taking the potion. Emma walked away from the casket and searched the mines. She had no idea where the sword would be, really, but she guessed it would be pretty close to the pile of dust that had collected when the dragon exploded.

And there it was, feet to Emma's right lay a perfect cone of dust still in the same spot she'd left it. Emma walked over to it and crouched down. She couldn't see the sword, but she also didn't see it anywhere else, so it was likely to be covered. She stuck her hands in tentatively—she tried hard to forget that it was the ashes of an…animal? Was a dragon considered an animal?

"So how do you know that it's down here?" James asked over her shoulder.

"I brought it down here," she said still sifting through the powder. "When Henry was in his coma, I needed a way to wake him up. I needed magic. I went to Gold and he gave me your sword and told me I to get a potion from down here."

"Why did Mr. Gold have my sword?"

"I don't know. He's Rumplestitlskin."

Emma could feel James tense up behind her. She kept swiping her hands across the dirt, pushing it aside until a glint appeared in the corner of her eye. Under one more layer, Emma revealed the sword. She took the handle and stood up. Dust fell like sprinkled powder back into the pile.

"What kind of potion?" James asked her.

"Some kind of true love potion. Here," she said handing him the long blade.

James took it in his hand and let it dangle by his side. It was remarkable how much he changed just holding it. His shoulders seemed to push back, exposing his broad chest and he held his head higher. He held it like it was nothing—just an extension of his arm that had always been there.

"Was it a purple potion?" he asked with his brows furrowed.

"I don't know. I had to get an egg shaped container. I didn't open it." Emma could not understand why James was staring at her through wide eyes. He had grown up around magic. Was it so hard to believe in potions with his background?

"How did you get it?" he asked.

"I—" Emma stopped, wondering what he would say when she told him; he seemed to be really freaking out over the potion. Suddenly, Emma wondered whether it was actually what Gold had told her it was. Had she helped him retrieve something evil? "I fought a dragon."

"The beast?! You slayed it?"

"I guess. It turned into all this dust," she replied, motioning to the ashes. "Why are you so excited?"

James made a noise as if she should understand what the big deal was. "The egg was golden, right? I put it in there, Emma. I put it in the dragon twenty-eight years ago."

It was Emma's turn to widen her eyes. "You did? Why?"

James shook his head. "Rumplestiltskin told me he needed to protect it—for later. I can't believe you slayed the dragon."

Emma shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention James was giving her. She turned to the direction they had come from and motioned to him.

"We should get going," she said.

Before she had a chance to walk away, however, James spoke up. "I'm proud of you, Emma."

Those words did more to hurt Emma than anything else he could have said. She felt her throat tighten and her jaw start trembling. Not once had anyone ever said that to her. They said "good job" or "nice" on those rare times that people thought she did something good, and all of them had been teachers- people not really close to her at all. No one had ever said they were proud of her. Emma clenched her teeth together until it gave her pain. More and more, James proved to be the father she had always wanted, and her dream father had never even been anything special. All she wanted was someone who would smile at her and give her a high five when she did something right. That's all she thought a good father was. James was becoming so much more than that. He made her feel better, he let her cry when things were awful, and he made her feel loved. And all of that just culminated in a serving of this-is-what-you-could-have-had.

"I didn't do anything," she answered harshly and walked away.

James trotted behind her and grabbed her arm, roughly turning her around. He looked her dead in the face, his eyes serious and demanding.

"You slayed a dragon. You broke the curse and you saved all of us," he said slowly making sure she heard every word. "After all that you've been through you turned out to be this beautiful, and amazing woman. I could not be more proud of my daughter."

He stared at her for a moment and then pulled her in for a tight hug. As much as she wanted to pull away, she accepted it. It was not like she could deny wanting it, anyway. There was a weakness that came with being in her father's arms. Like for the second where he wasn't looking at her, but holding her soul, let her really be free. Not wanting to cry again, Emma pushed back.

"We really need to go."

"Of course."

They walked quickly back to the elevator and into the lift. Emma rang the bell while James closed the gate. She was grateful that this trip had been uneventful. It was nice, for once, to not be surprised when she went somewhere.

"So," said James with a smirk as the lift began its climb, "how was it?"

"What?"

"Killing the dragon," he pushed.

Emma laughed. "I don't know. I can't say I was really thinking too much when it happened. I barely remember all of it. I just wanted to save Henry. I just did what I had to do."

"It's like that sometimes," he nodded.

"Sometimes?" Emma observed. "What, you've battled more than one dragon?"

"Well," he boasted with his ridiculously smile—his _charming_ smile. "Maybe two or three. I could show you a few pointers one day."

Emma scoffed, "You're just bragging now; I slayed one perfectly fine, thank you. I probably did it even better than you."

"Really?" he chuckled. "Well—"

The lift jerked violently. Emma caught herself, wrapping her free hands around the metal slots. James was not so lucky. He lurched forward smashing his face against the gate and fell to his knees again. Steadying herself, Emma got down to help him.

"Are you okay?" she said. "My god, you're bleeding."

James shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips. A clean, deep cut was brimming with bright blood from his bottom lip. He touched it lightly.

"I'm fine. What the hell happened?"

"Snow must have let go of the lever. It happened to me last time."

She stood up and cupped her hands around her mouth and called Snow's name twice. They were much lower than the time she had come with Regina. She hoped Snow would hear her; she really did not fancy having to do any climbing. James stood up and called out too, his deep voice reverberating off the metal of the shaft.

"We might have to climb out," Emma said sourly. "I don't know if she can hear us."

"Remind me to stay away from elevators from now on," said James strapping the sword in its sheath over his shoulders.

With a small laugh Emma moved to the corner of the lift to start climbing the way she had before. She looked up and paused.

"What the hell?"

A solid black mass was flying at them at a fast clip. She turned her head trying to figure out what it was, when she noticed the flailing. It was a body. James and Emma only had a second to throw their arms out before the body smashed against the metal of the lift's ceiling, flipped and tackled both of them. Emma grunted as a foot kicked her in the face, knocking her against the side and to the floor. She spun around, blinking the pain out of her eyes.

"Henry!" she screamed, pulling her son off of James.

If Henry could have screamed, it would have been bloodcurdling. He lay flat, his body as tense and hard as wood, with his mouth wide open, the scream trapped in his lungs. His right hand trembled as he held it over his left arm. He rolled to the side and gasped. And then came the wailing.

Emma could hardly speak as her son writhed in pain. She ran her hands over his body, but when she touched his left arm, Henry gasped and suddenly stopped breathing. His clenched his teeth together.

"Breathe, Henry!" yelled James, touching Henry's face. "Take a deep breath!"

She marveled at how he could still be conscious; he must have fallen some twenty or thirty feet. He should be limp at her knees. Maybe landing on James had softened the blow; still, Emma's heart stopped when she thought about how hard he'd smacked the metal beams above them. Henry managed to gulp into a couple of sporadic breaths mingled with his cries.

"What happened?" she shouted over his voice.

James looked at her with startled eyes. He stood up and screamed, "SNOW!"

No answer came and it was all James needed. He sprang forward and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from her son.

"Climb," he ordered.

"No, I'm not leaving him!" Emma yelled trying to kneel back down.

Without argument, James dipped down and wrapped his arms around her knees, lifting her into the air. Realizing she didn't have a choice, Emma raised her arms up and pulled herself out of the lift. She climbed, using the beams as she had before. It was easier this time with the adrenaline bursting through her veins. She reached the top quickly and struggled to pull herself up. Sliding on her stomach, Emma looked around the library. Snow was gone and although nothing looked too different, one thing stood out. A small trail of blood lined the front desk. James grunted behind her and he struggled into the library. He took one look at the blood and sprinted out of the door.

Emma pounced to her feet and went to the elevator panel, pushing up on the lever until it couldn't be raised any higher and even then, she pushed harder on it. The lift came up too slowly, but finally it came, fitting itself into the proper place. Henry was still and silent inside. She yanked back the gate and dove in, running her hands over his face. She called his name but he did not respond. His face seemed to grow grayer by the second and she only now realized that his shoulder was bleeding.

The door swung open and James marched in and crouched over them.

"Snow's gone," he panted. His chest heaved and beads of sweat already dripped down his red face. "Come on."

He stooped down and took Henry into his arms making her son look tiny against his grandfather's chest. Making sure Emma was behind him, James ran out of the library and back into the streets of Storybrooke. Emma flinched as they stepped outside; she had forgotten that it wasn't night, but only an hour passed noon.

"How could she disappear?" she said, spinning around. The sun lit Storybrooke in a yellow light, reflecting off of cars and signs.

"Come on, Emma," James called to her. He was already halfway down the street with Henry dangling in his hands.

Emma ran to catch up and stopped him.

"Give him to me," she demanded.

"He'll be too heavy," James said shaking his head, but he barely got it out before Emma viciously ripped her son out of his hands. She pulled Henry close, holding him as she had after he'd eaten the poisoned apple, her arms under his butt and across his back. She glared at James, daring him to try and take Henry, but James only nodded and hurried her away, keep one hand on her back and the other on the handle of his now free sword.

* * *

When Henry finally opened his eyes, Emma felt her heart skip three beats. She let a couple of tears slid down her face as she held his head in her hands. She only got to kiss him once, before Doc swooped in and pushed her aside.

"Take this," the dwarf said, forcing two pills down Henry's throat.

Henry choked, but eventually got them down. He looked at her weakly and whined. Emma scooted closer and gave him another kiss.

They had carried him to the closest place, which was the apartment. He was laying now on the couch, his arm bandaged and slung by Doc who James had sent for via a random woman on the street. The bathroom door slammed shut and James came around the corner.

"He's awake," Doc announced.

The relief that Emma had felt, spread across James' face and he approached the couch, getting on his knees to be closer to Henry's face.

"Henry, what happened?"

Henry closed his eyes and swallowed slowly. He raised his right hand and laid it on his chest.

"She kicked me?" he said.

"What?!" blurted Emma. Heat raged through Emma so suddenly it almost took her breath away.

"Snow kicked you?" said James, his voice saying he was as surprised and disbelieving. "Why would she do that?"

"They were trying to take me," Henry moaned. "Where is she?"

"Who was trying to take you?" Emma demanded. "Henry, tell us what happened."

But Henry was turning his head, his eyes growing more panicked. "Where is she?"

"Henry, please," James begged. "Focus."

"I don't know," her son cried. "There were three guys. They came in and said they wanted me. Snow hurt one of them and I got away. They were holding her back. One of them tried to grab me, but then she kicked me and I fell. Did they take her? Where is she?"

"It's alright," James said, placing his hand on Henry's forehead. "We're going to find her."

"Who were they, Henry? Did you recognize them?" Emma pressed. She knew she was probably pushing too hard. It was obvious Henry was feeling overwhelmed, but her passion was boiling over and she needed someone to hunt. Now. She would not let anyone come near her son.

"No," Henry cried.

Emma turned to James. "What do we do?"

He turned his head away, thinking. He placed his hand on hers and stood up.

"I need to look for her—" he said.

"I'm coming with you," she said standing.

"Emma, we can't bring Henry."

She hesitated. She couldn't leave Henry, not while he was so hurt, but she would be damned if she was going to let James go looking for the bastards without her.

James seemed to understand the battle raging in her. He took her hand and nodded.

"Maybe we can take him to Red and Granny. They can protect him."

Emma nodded and sat back down on the couch, leaning over Henry.

"Are you okay?" It was a stupid question. She knew well he wasn't, but Henry nodded despite the tears running down his face. Emma leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"You're very brave. I love you," she told him.

"Love you, too," he mumbled.

With her help, Henry sat up and got off the couch. James place his hand on Henry's head and led them all to the door.

Once outside, Doc left, saying he would round up his brothers and they would help protect Henry or look for Snow—whatever James wanted. Emma and James walked briskly down the street, Henry walking between both of them, cradling his arm.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Emma asked him, stroking his shoulder.

Henry looked up and tried to smile. It broke her heart but it also steeled it. God, were they going to pay. Whoever took her mother and tried to take her son, God have mercy on their soul, because Emma Swan wouldn't. James led them around the corner, turning onto Main Street and walking quickly past the shop windows. There was no one out and they moved down the street quickly.

They had just passed the leather shoe shop when a pair of strong arms reached out and wrapped themselves around Emma's waist, yanking her away before she got a chance to grab Henry. James yelped as two men jumped on him and brought him down to the floor. Another man grabbed Henry, who screamed both in pain and in fear. Emma fought with her attacker but soon realized that it wasn't just him. The three of them were surrounded by almost five different men. James stood and kicked one away only to be grabbed by another. Emma turned, kneeing the tall man in the groin and ran to the man who had Henry. Seeing her coming, the man retreated, pulling Henry with him. Another man almost tackled Emma to the ground.

"Emma!" Henry screamed, thrashing in the man's arms. The man lifted Henry up, throwing Henry over his shoulder, and running over to a car.

"No!" yelled James and with skill Emma had never known he had, James pushed himself off of the concrete and punched man in the face; turned, kneeing another in the stomach and punching the back of his neck; and finally pushed his other attacker away, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and slamming him to the floor. James took off catching up to Henry and the other man. He pulled the man away giving Henry a chance to run away. The man swung, hitting James in the face. James stumbled away but caught himself and came back twice as hard, knocking the man against the truck. James turned away and scooped Henry into his arms.

Emma struggled against her holder, finally wriggling free and giving him a punch that forced him staggering back. She turned to find the man by the truck pulling out a crowbar. He swung it high and ran for her father and son.

"NO!" screamed Emma, as the man brought the metal bar down.

She felt a painful tug in her stomach that rippled out into her outstretched arm. Her fingernails tickled. A puff of purple smoke enveloped James and Henry; when it cleared, they were gone and the assailant stumbled, bringing the crowbar down with too much force to stop himself.

Emma stood wide-eyed with her mouth hanging open. Her mind when blank and she was overwhelmed by the men grabbing at her. As they forced her into the truck, Emma stared at her hand wondering what she had done.


	29. Justice

Snow opened her eyes slowly. Her eyelids felt like lead weights pressing down on her face. Her head lolled to the side and she snapped it up as if trying to keep herself awake. The muscles in her neck were stiff and she wondered how long she had been sleeping; she usually could not sleep if she was uncomfortable and she had not woken up this bothered in days. Snow blinked groggily. She turned her head, searching for the green light of her clock. Instead she saw darkness; only as she woke up more, she found her room strange. Since when had she hung up that pegboard? Why were there fishing poles in her room, she didn't fish? Snow turned her head to the left and saw a staircase, except this one was wooden and rickety, as if the boards would snap right in the middle with any weight. Her stairs were metal.

"I hear you put up quite the fight."

Snow jumped at the voice and felt a tug at her wrists. She looked down and realized that she was tied to a chair. Eyes widening like an owl's, Snow snapped her head all around the room and realized that she was not in her bedroom. The cold concrete of the floor suddenly seemed to seep through her shoes and freeze her feet. She was tied up in a basement.

"I mean, you _really_ drove that pen in there. He'll probably bleed to death if I don't get him to a doctor. Hmmm."

Snow looked around for the voice's owner and finally found a man, half in shadow, leaning against a workbench. He smiled sweetly at her; it sent a chill down her spine. He stepped into the light given off by a dangling bulb in the middle of the room. Her first thought was that he was handsome; he had a sweet, angled face with a trimmed beard and lean body. Her second thought was that she was insane for thinking the first.

"How are we feeling? Not too dizzy?" he asked. He stood in front of her and circled his hips in a hoola hooping fashion. "Am I spinning?"

"Who are you?" she asked, licking her dry lips. She almost gagged from the horrible taste. There was a thin coating of something on her lips.

"See," he answered pointing to her, "if I tell you that, then I loose all the mystery I've created. I loose the fear factor."

She searched her unclear mind for why she was here in the first place. Snow only got pieces of her memory—eating breakfast, Granny with a knife. None of those seemed important though. There must have been a reason she was alone in a strange man's basement. And then she remembered her family. Emma and James had gone down in the elevator. She and Henry talked. And then…

"I'm not afraid of you," said Snow, feeling an anger boil inside of her. She remembered stabbing the man with the pen and she remembered kicking Henry down the elevator shaft. She prayed that the lift was not far below and that they were all alright.

"Oh yes, you are. You know why?" he came around and laughed, placing his hands on the back of her chair. Snow could feel him softly pacing behind her. "Because we're humans, it's what we do! We fear."

Out of the corner of her eye, Snow watched him pace with his arms waving madly in the air as if he were performing in a dramatic play reaching it's climax. She watched as the sleeves of his long sweater flopped in the air, covering his hands.

"We fear our memories, we fear our emotions, and we fear the unknown. And there are a lot of things you don't know, honey. You don't know where you are. You don't know why you're here. We've already established that you don't know who I am. Most importantly, you don't know what's happened to your precious family," he said with a fake pout in his voice.

Snow felt the blood in her cheeks draining, like water, back into her neck and constricting her heart. The man stepped forward and leaned into her, getting inches from her face and resting his weight on the arms of her chair.

"So yes, Snow White, you are afraid."

"What do you want from me?" she said, shying away from his hot breath.

He pushed himself upright and laughed, "You know, the funny thing is, I didn't even want you. I wanted the boy. That's what you get when you send imbeciles to do your work, right Snow White? Although I guess I can't completely fault them—with that awful haircut you may as well be him."

He rounded the chair and shouted in excitement, "The resemblance is uncanny from the back!"

Snow closed her eyes. The last time she had been tied to a chair she had been terrified, but that had been as Mary Margaret who was much weaker and smaller than Snow. Mary Margaret could not protect herself and had never been in a position to stand up for herself. Of course, she would have been going out of her mind with fear. Now tied to a chair, feeling the hot breath of her captor on her neck Snow was overcome with an anxiety she had rarely experienced. The panic clawed at her neck and she had to keep telling herself to calm down before she screamed. Unlike Mary Margaret, Snow was not afraid for herself, she could handle herself quite well, having plenty of practice with emergency situations in the Enchanted Forest. Snow White was terrified of what had happened to her family, because as her captor had already addressed, she had no idea what had become of them.

"No, no, no," she felt a light thumb dance across her cheek and lift her face up. "Don't fall asleep on me now and definitely don't do that catatonic thing. That's just so rude."

Snow opened her eyes and faced him. "What do you want with Henry?"

"Simple," he stated, giving her a look that said she should already know. "I want The Queen. The Queen wants the boy. So, simple deductive reasoning dictates that _I_ would benefit greatly from having the boy."

"Why do you want Regina?"

He scoffed, "Oh, Snow White. Are you really so pure as your name? You know what she's done to us, to our lives. What kind of person would I be if I let such an unjust crime stand?"

"If you want to punish her, why involve my family at all? Why not just go after her?"

"Oh, I already tried that. Didn't work," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Snow frowned. It seemed Regina was truly eluding everyone lately. She must have been in hiding well, because no one had seen so much as a trace of her. Snow thought back to the way she'd run around the Mayor's mansion, desperately searching for her stepmother. She had breathed in fume after toxic fume only to discover that Regina was not there. Realization dawn on Snow quickly.

"Did you set the fire?" she asked slowly.

He turned and grinned. "Well, not me _personally. _Why, did you like my work?"

"You destroyed the house. For no reason."

"And she protects architecture as well," he said applauding her, the sound muffled by the cloth of his sleeves. "Is there anything you can't do, Princess?"

"I'm a Queen," she spat, her fury starting back up at being insulted.

"I'm sure you are," his condescension infuriated her further.

"You won't get him," she told him.

The man laughed and pointed to her. "Oh yes, I know. You're doing a great job stopping me from that chair."

Snow pursed her lips. "Emma. She won't let you anywhere near him."

He shrugged. "Well, I learn from my mistakes. Clearly three grown men cannot take on a princess and a little boy; I mean, what was I thinking? I made sure to adjust appropriately."

A door opened somewhere above them and a harsh bright light filtered into the room. Snow wondered how late it was in the day, the dank basement tricking her into believing it was night. A short chubby man descended the worn wooden staircase and huffed with nerves as he approached. He took his purple beanie from his head and wrung it between his fat fingers.

"Captain," he said, raising his right hand to salute.

"What," said the man before Snow with a roll of his eyes.

"They've returned, but… you won't be happy," the little man mumbled.

The Captain stood very still, mulling the words over in his mind. "I'm already not happy. What happened? Did they kill the boy?"

Snow felt a jolt ripple through her.

"No, no, Captain," answered the man shaking his head vigorously.

The captain sighed dramatically letting his arms slap his sides loudly. "Fine. Bring me my hand."

His servant jumped to attention and ran passed Snow to one of the benches. She watched him curiously out of the corner of her eye. He ran to a case, swiping his stubby finger over it. He lifted the lid slowly and reached in, with ease. When he raised his hands he held a hook as large as Snow's head, cradling it like a newborn. The man carried the hook to the captain, who pulled up his right sleeve to reveal a stump at the end of his wrist covered by a metal plate. Gingerly, the man handed the hook to his captain and retreated. Snow's captor grinned at her as he snapped it into place, a glint shining off it in the light from upstairs.

"Alright, bring me my prize," said the Captain.

With a nervous glance at Snow, the fat man turned and hurried up the stairs. The Captain came over to her chair and stuffed a thick cloth into her mouth. She gagged viciously, but he held his hand on her lips, keeping it in place.

"No noise," he cooed.

Snow heard a scuffle come from the top and then what sounded like a hundred pairs of heavily booted feet clomped down the stairs. They came in a cluster, holding something big in their arms. Snow craned her neck, but she could not get a good look at the object until, from halfway up the stairs, they pitched it from their arms and threw it down the steps. It landed with a harsh thud and a grunt and Snow's heart jumped into her mouth.

"Emma!" she screamed, but with the cloth in her mouth, it came out as nothing more than a moan.

The Captain spun around and poked her neck with the tip of his hook. "One more sound and I slice her beautiful neck."

Snow nodded, but Emma had not heard her anyway. After hitting the floor, Emma pushed herself up and with a feral growl she threw herself at one of the men, fists swinging. She could not land any punches though, as the others grabbed her by the elbows and yanked her back.

The Captain walked across the basement floor smoothly, grabbed Emma by the hair, and fit the curve of his hook around Emma's neck. All the muscles in Snow's body tightened.

"Calm down now," the man said as if mollifying a child.

Emma glared at him. "Where is my mother?" she spat. The Captain ignored her question and ran his fingers through her hair.

"Now, men," he said with a confused look on his face. "I can understand making the first mistake. I mean, you might not have noticed that the first person you grabbed had knockers and I understand that because, well, I was a little confused myself. But this one has even bigger knockers! AND FLAMING BLONDE HAIR!"

He snatched the hook from Emma's neck and sliced it through the air, hitting the man closest to him. The man yelp, and scurried away, a giant cut bleeding red down his face.

"How difficult is it to pick up a child?" he shouted, turning to each of his lackeys.

One of the men in the back raised a hand slowly, but kept his eyes down, as if his Captain had the look of Medusa. Snow tried to shift in her seat, hoping the movement would cause Emma's eyes to flicker in her direction, but she knew Emma would not be able to see her. She was completely hidden in a dark shadow.

"What?" the captain demanded.

"Captain," the man had a small squeaky voice, "she did something to him. She made the boy and the man disappear. She used magic."

"Magic?" asked the captain, drastically calmer than seconds ago. He turned to face Emma and sunk down until he was right above her face. "Did you use magic, my sweet?"

Snow thought back to the day before in the woods when Emma had summoned all of the butterflies.

Emma smirked. "Oh my god. You're Captain Hook," she laughed maliciously, "from Peter Pan."

The Captain's smile dropped and he snapped, "Do not mention that name to me."

Emma rolled her eyes. Frustrated, Captain Hook stood up and glared down at Emma. Snow hoped Emma would not say anything stupid; the hook on his wrist glinted dangerously.

"What did you do to the boy?" Captain Hook asked.

"Go to hell," Emma snarled, still restrained by three men.

"We're already here!" said Hook throwing out his arms as if to show Emma what hell was. "And I'm trying to get out of it, but I can't do that unless I have the boy."

Emma glared her green eyes intently on Hook, but she said nothing. It made Snow's heart warm the way her daughter stood up for herself. It might get her hurt, but it was incredibly brave.

The Captain touched his metal hand to Emma's chin, forcing her face up and bringing his own closer. "I don't want anyone to get hurt," he said warmly, "but I need you to tell me what you did to the boy."

For an answer, Emma spit in his face. Snow recoiled; Emma was brave, and incredibly stupid sometimes, though Snow could not say that she would not have done the same. Furious, Hook stood up and ordered his men to tie Emma to a chair in the corner, which they did, tossing her unceremoniously onto the stiff seat and tying her hands behind her back with two belts and a couple on her legs. They dragged the chair over to the center of the room until she faced Snow. Then Hook turned on a light, which made Snow flinch away, the brightness burning her eyes.

"Snow!" Emma yelled, struggling against her bonds.

Captain Hook strode over to Snow and placed his human hand on her head, stroking her short hair gently.

"I'm bored, Emma," he sneered at her daughter, "and I'm done playing games. Where's the boy?"

"If you hurt her—"

"Why would I hurt her?" he said, moving his hand down to Snow's shoulder. "Snow White and I, we're best friends, aren't we? Just tell me what you did to him and everyone can go home."

Unable to speak, Snow shook her head at Emma, but Hook grabbed her hair and yanked it back, sending a pain shooting through Snow's neck.

"No, no, Mommy," he said in her ear. "Emma's a big girl now. She needs to make her own decisions."

Snow glanced at Emma and saw the hate pouring through her body. Emma was visibly shaking and looking like she was seconds away from attacking Hook.

"What do we say, _Savior_?" Hook jeered.

"I'm going to kill you," Emma said evenly. It was so malicious and strangely honest that Snow felt her body grow cold. She'd seen hate in Emma's eyes before—hell, Emma had even thrown hate Snow's way—but it was never like this. Emma's eyes seemed to grow darker and she stared him down with daggers in her eyes.

"The power of persuasion then," decided Hook. He took his curved, metal hand and placed it around Snow's neck, the tip biting into her skin. "let's see how white she can really get."

Snow let out a small cry as the sharp tip dug into her skin and started cutting a smooth, deep line at the base of her neck.

"STOP!" Emma commanded.

With a yelp, Hook was thrown from Snow and across the room where his back collided with the corner of a workbench. Loud clinking sounds filled the air as the belts around Emma's wrists uncoiled themselves and flew up, hovering over her head. Snow felt the pressure in her wrists and ankles release as the belts holding her unraveled and joined the others above her. Hook's men jumped to attention rushing at Emma collectively. They gasped audibly when the belts hurtled through the air and wrapped themselves around the necks of each man, choking them. Emma rose from her chair slowly with one arm outstretched. She scowled at Hook and kept her eyes on him, closing her hand as if she were squeezing an apple. The two belts around Hook's throat constricted and he choked, fighting for air.

Snow pulled the cloth from her mouth and yelled, "Emma, stop!"

Emma didn't hear her and closed her hand tighter. Hook let out one sob and then slumped against the floor, his hook clawing at the belts. All the men in the room dropped to their backs, the belts like snakes around their throats.

Snow ran over to Emma and shook her, demanding for her to stop. It wasn't her daughter, it wasn't her Emma who stared down at a now perfectly limp Hook and squeezed harder.

"Stop!" Snow screamed, jumping on Emma's arm and forcing it down.

Emma turned her glare on her and raised her hand. Snow retreated afraid Emma might hurt her, but the darkness fell from her eyes and Emma stumbled back. Snow let out a sigh of relief as Emma whirled around looking at all of the slack men around the floor. She whimpered a little and brought her hands up to her face, staring at them in disbelief.

"We have to go," Snow told her and grabbed her arms forcing Emma to the stairs.

There were no men upstairs and they bolted from the house with ease. Outside, the sun had finally started its descent giving the night a light blue haze. The scent of salt and fish struck Snow's nose and she realized they were by the docks. They came out of a small wooden house, clearly run down, just feet away from the docked boats. Taking Emma's hand, Snow ran down the street until she found an entrance to a path. They needed to stay out of sight, she decided, in case more of Hook's men came for them. When they entered the trees, Emma snatched her hand away.

"Emma."

"Get away from me," Emma cried. Her daughter backed away and cowered. Emma never cowered.

"What's wrong?" said Snow stepping closer, roaming her eyes over Emma.

"No," Emma yelled to her. "I don't know what I'm doing. I can't control it. I might hurt you."

Snow shook her head. "I know you would never hurt me."

"I said stay away!"

"Emma," Snow reached for her.

"Stop it!" Emma wailed.

Snow felt like she was hit by a wrecking ball. Her whole body was lifting into the air and thrown feet away. She slammed against a tree and slumped to the soft packed dirt of the forest floor.

Blinking away the pain, Snow looked up and through watery eyes, saw her daughter running away.


	30. Finding Each Other

**Sorry it's been so long since my last update. We're coming down to the wire. I'm excited for the next Once this Sunday. What about you guys.**

* * *

Luckily, Henry hit the ground on his right arm. Unluckily, it didn't stop the pain from shooting through to his dislocated shoulder. He cried out and rolled over onto his stomach, digging his face into the warm dirt.

"Henry!" he heard his grandfather call.

Opening his eyes, Henry found himself lying in the middle of the forest floor, his body sprawled out over roots and leaves. The setting sun began casting its shadows through the drooping leaves of the trees. Turning his head, Henry saw Charming crawling to him.

"Are you alright?" he almost yelled running his eyes all over Henry's body.

Henry nodded quickly. His arm was on fire. Whatever Doc had given him had either worn off or had not worked to begin with. Still, he did not want his grandfather worrying anymore than he needed to. It seemed to Henry they had enough problems to deal with. With his grandfather's help, Henry sat up and glanced around the forest. He had no idea where they were. They were not on any path. In fact, by the thickness of the trees, they seemed to be miles from any paths. The sun was setting fast, which meant they were on a tight schedule. Henry worried about what could happen in these trees in the dark. The last time, it had not been good at all.

"What happened?" asked Charming, drawing his sword out. He stood in a low stance as if seconds away from slicing through an opponent.

Henry shook his head. "I think it was Emma. I think she used magic."

Charming gave him a look. "Magic? How could she use magic?"

"I don't know," answered Henry with a shrug of his good shoulder. It gave him an unsure look, which is exactly how he felt.

He wondered if he should have expected something like this. Henry had known from the beginning that his mother was special. She was destined, even before birth, to save the people of Storybrooke, the people of her land. She was special—the savior that would rescue everyone from their unhappy lives, including him. And she had done just that. Or rather, she was still doing it. But now he wondered if she was more than that. It seemed like anytime Emma did something, decided something important, things changed. That was how the curse had begun breaking in the first place, right? What if Emma was something more than just savior? What if she had magic?

"Come on," said Charming laying a hand on Henry's shoulder. "We need to find them."

Then Henry remembered that his mother was not with them. They had been ambushed, again, and Emma had saved them—saved him—by sending him away. But that meant she it was her against some five men. Henry swallowed against the pain and marched behind his grandfather, cradling his arm.

Whoever was looking for him really wanted him. They wanted him so badly, they sent even more men to capture him and they were willing to do it in the middle of the daylight, and against one of the strongest families in Storybrooke. The way Snow had fought off three men was just incredible. If it hadn't been such a dangerous situation, Henry might have thrown her applause. And then Charming, with his sword securely strapped to his back, had fought off his four men with only his hands as a weapon. Then there was Emma, who was formidable on an entirely different level if she actually did have magic. Henry imagined it was enough to intimidate most of Storybrooke from bothering the royal family.

Still, Henry could not imagine who wanted him badly enough to try. He only kept coming up with his mother, but as far as he knew, she was in hiding. She wouldn't really have another army at her dispense would she? Was that what she was doing—recruiting people who had worked for her in the past?

"Henry, stay close," Charming called to him.

Realizing he had fallen too far behind, Henry jogged a little until he was right by Charming's side. With a glance at his grandfather, Henry stood a little straighter. Even under his obvious stress, Charming still exuded a sense of confidence Henry had yet seen in any man, let alone Mr. Nolan.

"What are we going to do?" asked Henry. "How are we supposed to find them?"

Charming turned his eyes down, to look at Henry. "We're going to find them because it's what we do. This family finds each other."

"Like you found Snow so many times?" said Henry.

"Like you found Emma," Charming added.

Henry smiled. "And like Emma found you."

Charming could not help but grin. "Exactly."

Henry ducked, sliding under a low hanging branch. Charming stepped around it, using his sword to push it to his side.

"Do you think they're together?"

"Yes," Charming said confidently. And then not so confidently, "I hope so."

Hearing the doubt slide into his voice, Henry looked away. He knew he was safe with Charming. Even without the sword, his grandfather had proven he could defend himself quite well. Yet, Henry could not help but taste the anxiety forming in his body.

"Can I admit something?" he asked quietly.

"What is it?" asked Charming.

Henry paused for a second. Emma was not around; it was just him and his grandfather, what was the harm? Maybe this could be part of their bonding. Prince Charming could maybe be feeling the same way.

"I'm scared."

Beside him, his grandfather nodded slowly, running the thought through his head. "Me too," he finally said.

It put Henry at ease immediately. At least he was not alone. He had been right about the curse, of course, but after years of therapy Henry still had a hard time not questioning his own thoughts. It was like Archie had unintentionally drilled some serious self-doubt into Henry. He supposed that was what his mother had really wanted, though. If he wasn't sure of himself, how could he be certain about her curse, about her identity? Henry shook his head—he would need to get over that soon. It was a weakness.

"Did you hear that?" Charming snapped to attention, pulling Henry to his hip.

Henry flinched at the shot of needles going through his arm and then settled against his grandfather's hip. He listened quietly, taking in the sounds of the newly born crickets chirping in the air. The rustling of leaves caught his attention, but they did not sound out of place. It sounded like wind, rabbits and squirrels running underfoot and overhead, not anything malicious.

"Look," Henry whispered. He stuck out his right arm, pointing through two trees in the distance.

There, his dark coat hidden in the long shadows of the forest was the horse from the day before. On this side, they could just make out the long deep scratch, oddly shaped against the smooth leaves of the bushes and trees. It meandered slowly, reaching its large white teeth out and snatching at the bushes below its neck. Henry felt Charming's arm slide away slowly and together they approached it. The horse paid them no attention and moved forward looking for more food.

Taking Henry's hand, Charming led them through the brush and behind the horse. As they neared, the horse grew still, looking at them curiously. Henry took his hand from his grandfather's and rubbed it alongside the large animal's flank. It stared at Henry through tired eyes. He imagine how it felt, living out here everyday in the forest, running from wolves and hunting for its food. As his stomach growled, Henry empathized with it. It seemed he and his family would never get a chance to stop running.

Charming ran his hand over the horse's long hair, feeding it berries he had found off of a bush. The horse relaxed greatly, recognizing they were not a threat. Perhaps he even recognized them from the morning before.

"I wish I knew how to ride one," Henry mused, running his hand close to the horse's shoulders.

Charming smiled. "It's an amazing feeling. I could teach you."

"Really?" Henry picked up his head.

"Of course," said Charming, walking over to his side. "I've got a lot of time to make up for, you know."

"Yeah, you do," Henry agreed, making Charming laugh.

"Yeah. I could teach you horse riding, maybe Emma too. I get the feeling she's not the carriage type."

Henry shook his head quickly. He could just imagine the scrunched up face Emma would pull at the thought of riding in the back.

"And you know what, you could teach me things too," Charming insisted. "I mean, as David I have memories of playing baseball and football, but I don't think I've ever actually played those. Soccer maybe. You could show me how to play."

Henry shrugged. "I haven't played them that much either."

He grew quiet thinking about all the gym classes he had suffered, being placed on teams where none of the kids were any good. It wasn't like Henry imagined he was spectacular, but being descended from such and amazing family had to count for something. He expected he might have some of Emma's athleticism; he had just never been given a chance. Even during recess, he stood on the sidelines, too much of an outcast to play with any the others. He couldn't even say they were his own age. Henry had been moved up without the rest of his class so many times, he lost count. Henry smiled to himself then. Baseball and football with his grandpa would be great. He'd get to do everything he couldn't before and he knew his grandfather would be good at them. Prince Charming was good at everything.

"Hey! Could you teach me sword-fighting?" Henry grinned up, his eyes full of hope. What he wouldn't give to have a sword-fighting lesson with the one and only Prince Charming.

"Oh yeah," Charming laughed. "That would be number one—"

Beside them, the horse froze, swinging its head up and staring off into the forest. Without a warning to started off, slowly running amongst the trees and stomping over branches and leaves.

"What happened?"

"I don't know…" said Charming slowly. He stood with his eyes squinting at the horse until suddenly reaching out and taking Henry's hand again.

"Uh, where are we going?" Henry asked, trying to keep up with Charming's long strides. Would no one in his family get that he had much shorter legs?

"We're following it. Don't speak too loudly. I don't want to scare it," said Charming without taking his eyes off the creature. He quietly slid his sword back into its sheath and picked up his pace.

"Why?" Henry whispered against the whistling of the wind.

"I think it's attracted to magic."

"So why are we following it? I thought we were looking for Emma and Snow."

"Emma had magic, right?" said Charming, pulling his eyes away from the horse to give Henry a pointed look. "Hasn't she said it's shown up every time she's entered the forest? Maybe it can sense her magic. Animals are attracted to it."

Nodding at Charming's logic, Henry quieted and followed the horse. They walked through trees and over fallen logs, maintaining a safe distance so as not to harm the animal. At one point they crossed through a break in the trees, onto a path, only to step right back off of it and continue their trek deeper into the woods. It soon became dark, and Henry gripped Charming's hand harder. With the sun went the warmth and the increasing pain in Henry's arm. He tried not to complain, knowing they could do little about it. Still, sometimes he flinched. He stretched his neck, as if it could alleviate the tension. Thankfully, Doc had given him a nice sturdy wrap and sling, so it was not as bad as it could have been. Henry tried to keep his thoughts positive. Expecting the worst had not been doing him too well, lately.

Soon, the horse stopped and craned his neck as if looking for something. Coming to a slow walk behind it, Henry and Charming searched the dark woods for a strip of blonde hair. Charming's grip on his hand tightened as voices rang out through the trees. With one glance at each other, Henry and Charming moved towards them, already way behind the trotting horse.

* * *

**Next chapter is shortly behind. Thanks for reading guys!**


	31. Accusations and Threats

"Damn it!"

Emma threw herself down to the ground and brought her knees up her chin. She hadn't believed that it was really her that had sent Henry and James away. She was sure it was one of the men who attacked her. It must have been them, because Emma had never been able to anything like that. She was less sure after noticing all of the men choking on the floor of the basement and her worst fears were confirmed when she sent Snow sailing through the air. She had felt the push, as if she had physically touched her roommate and shoved her as hard as she possibly could. She hadn't meant it, of course, all she wanted was for Snow to step away from her. She was protecting her. Instead, she'd ended up causing Snow pain, exactly as Emma said she would.

She ran away, not because she was afraid, but because she could not stand hurting Snow anymore. Emma was supposed to be saving her, not chucking her across the entire forest or half killing people. That wasn't who she was. In her frustration she had thrown her arms up and sent two good-sized rocks flying through the air and smacked them against a tree. Now, curled in the dirt, Emma could not hide from herself—or her hands.

Maybe she was afraid. She had no idea what happened to James and Henry. They could be anywhere and she did not have a clue as to where to begin searching. That had been painful. Sending them away had pulled at her insides in way she had never expected, like her organs were yanking them away. It was an odd sensation, but inside that dank basement… that had felt good. It was like Emma was blaming the men in front of her for all of her problems and she was squeezing the energy out of them. The tightening of her fingers had felt like absolute power running up her arms, it was like having something to control. Emma had never had so little control in her life as she did now, and it was driving her mad.

She still did not quite understand everything. Snow had been kidnapped by Captain Hook-from Peter Pan-but only because he had actually wanted Henry. Why? What purpose could Henry possibly serve? Emma tried to recall what happened between Hook and Peter Pan and then gave up. If she had learned anything in the last four days, it was that everything she had ever read in her entire life was a lie. Red Riding Hood was not eaten by the wolf, she _was_ the wolf, and it was entirely possible that she had done some eating herself. Prince Charming hadn't just swooped in and fallen in love with a dark haired damsel; she had stolen from him and then kicked his ass first. Emma rubbed her thumbs into the side of her head, feeling a massive headache coming.

"Emma!" A pair of hands on her shoulders causing Emma to almost jump off the ground. "You can't do that. You can't run away like that!"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. Now the headache was really coming. She closed her hands into fists, suddenly fearing she might do something to harm her roommate again.

"I can't control it," she said, looking into Snow's large eyes. "What's happening to me?"

Snow's eyes softened and she stooped down. She shook her head and shrugged, "I don't know. You're using magic but I don't know how."

"I could hurt you again," Emma told her but Snow shook her head again.

"I don't believe you could hurt me—"

"I just threw you into a tree!" Emma protested.

"Yes, but not that hard. I imagine you've got a lot of power behind those hands and you could have knocked me out, but you didn't."

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. Snow really had too much confidence in people. Emma realized that Mary Margaret trait had not disappeared.

"What do we do?" she asked, slowly lowering her hands to the ground.

"First, we get out of the forest," Snow answered eyeing the darkness around them.

In her panic, Emma had not really noticed that night had finally fallen; the bright stars that hung in the sky were now illuminating their way. Snow was right. They could not stay out in the dark—it only attracted problems. Standing up, Emma followed Snow's lead and made sure to stick to the path.

"So, how could I be using magic?" she asked.

Again, Snow shrugged. "I honestly don't know. From what I always assumed, you had to be taught magic to be able to use it and I can't imagine any situation where you would have learned magic."

"Nope," Emma shook her head. "Never even saw a magician live before."

Out of all the foster brothers and sisters she had, Emma now found it strange that so few of them had even shown her any good card tricks. There was one who had tried, flipping the cards between his small fingers and showing his picks to her. _That's not magic,_ she had told him, skeptically watching him perform his "tricks". _How would you know,_ he had once retorted. Emma rolled her eyes. If only she had known then.

"Gold," she started slowly, "he said something about me being connected to the curse… through magic. Could that be why?"

Snow touched her eyebrows together. "Gold?"

"Oh, uh. He's Rumplestitlskin," Emma explained.

Snow nodded and continued walking.

"What else did he say?"

"He said when he created the curse—"

"He created? I thought Regina created it," Snow interrupted.

Emma shook her head, trying to remember correctly. "No, he said he did it. He said he connected the True Love potion he took from you and mixed it with the contract."

It was the only explanation Emma had to why she could do magic. As far as she could remember, she had never been able to do anything special. She remembered the butterflies in the woods the other day. She had been able to do that when she was younger. At a time when she was hopeful and innocent, she'd been able to call masses of butterflies even larger than and sync them into beautiful patterns. She had been able to create art with them. Surely that wasn't magic. That was just a gift, an odd skill.

"What True Love potion?" Snow said beside her.

"The one James hid in the dragon," Emma replied.

"What?" asked Snow turning to her.

Emma opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. Did she really not know? Emma wondered if she was actually allowed to tell Snow. Maybe James had not told her for a reason. He never did explain the circumstances under which he agreed to hide the egg. Emma went in a safer direction—she changed the subject.

"Did Hook happen to mention why he wanted Henry?"

Snow nodded, solemnly. "He wants Regina. He wanted Henry as bait."

"Son of a bitch," Emma muttered.

"Don't get angry," Snow scolded her. "I think that's what's triggering the magic. Your emotions are getting in the way."

Emma had to laugh at that one. Snow looked at her, not too pleased.

"Why is that funny?"

"Because I feel like lately, all I've been asked to do is tap _into_ my emotions and now you're telling me they're getting in the way."

Snow pressed her lips together. "I don't mean it like that," she said as they walked.

"I know," Emma sighed. She also felt like she had seriously been putting her foot in her mouth every time she talked with Snow.

Kind enough not to go down that road, Snow turned to James and Henry, asking what had happened. Emma told her, making sure to keep out the accusing tone when describing what happened to Henry's arm, but she was not sure it worked.

"I didn't mean for him to get hurt," Snow apologized, "but I couldn't let him get taken either."

"No, I appreciate it," Emma insisted. "I'm glad you protected him. Who knows; I might've done the same thing."

Snow turned her head and gave Emma a small smile.

"Thank you for saving me," she said. There was so much sincerity in her voice Emma felt overwhelmed.

"Any time," Emma choked out.

She smiled back, but the moment was short lived. Snow threw her arm out catching Emma in the stomach. Emma opened her mouth to protest when her eyes landed on the path in front of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she shot out instead.

"Where's my son," Regina commanded, her voice stricken as she marched up to them.

"_Your_ son?"

Regina walked right up to them and placed her arms on her hips. She was still dressed in her mayoral attire: a blank pants suit with a dark blouse. Emma almost thought they could have been in her office bickering over Regina's bitchiness.

"Yes," she sneered back, "my son. Where is he?"

Snow interjected before Emma could retort, "Where have you been?"

Regina glared at Snow, but otherwise ignored her question.

"I have a better question," Emma said. "Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure that's your business."

"You conveniently disappear when your curse is broken, no one sees you for days, but then suddenly you're here in the woods. That doesn't seem weird to you?"

"I wasn't aware you were looking for me," Regina said a little too innocently.

Emma smiled at the ground knowingly. She was tired of the games they were playing. They had been doing this dance for months, but it was over. Emma knew the truth now.

"If the curse if broken why didn't we go back?" Snow asked, her hand still hovering around Emma's waist.

Staring daggers into Snow, Regina cocked her head and smirked. "I'm not answering any questions until you answer mine. Where is my son?"

Emma scoffed. "You think you have a right to ask questions?"

Regina stepped forward and suddenly the space between their faces almost disappeared. They glared into each other's eyes—hollow black into the deep lively green—and Regina spoke very slowly ensuring Emma would catch every word.

"Make no mistake," she said. "You may have him now, but he is my son. And I will have him back."

Emma spoke just as slowly, her voice matching the death threat she had given Hook. "Over my dead body."

"You shouldn't tempt me."

"That's enough," said Snow, pushing them apart. Regina snatched her arm away and Emma refused to budge.

When she held her ground, she held that space to the point where the gods themselves could not uproot her. Now she felt her blood start an unhealthy boil. Just the sight of Regina was enough to piss Emma off, but a threat, and a threat against her kid—that sent off all kinds of buttons in Emma. She clenched her fists together. It was not something that escaped Snow.

"Don't get angry, Emma," Snow whispered to her quickly, taking one of her hands.

"Oh, no. Get angry, Emma," Regina jeered, lowering her hands from her hips. "Show me what you can do."

"Regina, please. We don't have to do this," Snow said.

Emma laughed humorlessly and turned away. She tried to listen to Snow; she really did not want to hurt anyone and she could already feel the tension in her body building. She did want to hurt Regina, but not with magic. Her fists would be enough to satisfy that urge.

"Yes. We do," Regina spat at her.

"Why can't we just stop this?" Snow begged. "I'm tired of the fighting. Why can't we just move on?"

"You would like that wouldn't you? To live with your family, with my son, to be happy forever," Regina stepped up to Snow now. Emma was proud that Snow did not back away. "You don't deserve your happy ending."

"I made _one_ mistake!" said Snow using her hands. "You won't stop punishing me for it!"

"You took everything from me!"

"You don't know what it's like to have everything taken from you!" Snow roared back, a pink coloring splashing her cheeks. "You took my father. You took my husband. You took my baby and my grandchild! You managed to take my identity from me. For twenty-eight years you had everything you wanted. Why can't it be enough?"

Regina lifted her finger and struck against Snow's chest. "Because, you—"

"Hey!" Emma stepped forward meaning to swipe Regina's hand from Snow's face, but instead, the tugging her hand appeared and she sent Regina flush against a tree. She smacked hard against it, her head hitting the trunk.

Emma walked up to her and pushed her harder against the bark. "Keep your hands off of her."

"Mom?"

Emma, Regina, and Snow turned around at the sound of the voice. Emma dropped her hand as soon as she saw the horse cantering over to her side. It whinnied softly and pawed its foot into the harsh dirt of the path. Behind it, James and Henry marched forward. Spotting Regina, James stopped Henry with his arm holding him back.

"Henry!" said Regina, bending down to him. "What happened to your arm?"

Leaving Regina by the tree, Emma stood on Henry's other side pushing him even further back.

"Just go Regina," Emma said.

Regina stood straight, her eyes smoldering. "Go? You don't want to catch me? Don't you want to kill me?"

"No!" Henry yelled from behind Emma and James. Her dark eyes dulled a bit at that, but they sharpened like knives when Snow spoke again.

"Killing you won't do anyone any good," she said.

"I want my son."

"Leave," James ordered, stepping in front of Emma.

Regina turned to him for the first time. "Well, I'm surprised you're letting me go. Why not wave that pretty sword?"

"Consider it a head start," James countered.

With a scoff Regina turned walking towards the path Emma and Snow had come from. She turned over her shoulder and looked directly at Henry, partially hidden (held back) behind Emma's legs.

"Then I'll wait to see you again," she said and finally she walked away heading down the packed dirt lane that would take her towards Hook's home.

Emma watched her saunter away and frowned. She didn't like that walk and she didn't like how confident Regina had seemed. Regina was supposed to be hiding and yet, she walked through the woods like she owned them, completely unfazed by the threat she, Snow and James posed. Emma wondered for a fleeting moment whether Regina and Hook had actually been working together—a way for Regina to get what she wanted without getting her hands dirty. Emma shook the thought from her mind. She had enough of a headache without worrying about Regina's diabolical plans. She placed her hand on Henry's warm fluffy head and felt better. He was hurt, scratched, and bruised, but she had protected him and that was all that mattered. They all watched Regina until her black suit faded into the night and then turned away, hurrying home before anything else could happen.


	32. A Hurried Moment

Emma let the water beat down her back, hoping the scalding water would wash away the pain in her joints and the throbbing in her head. Maybe it might even wash away the magic running through her veins. God knows she didn't want it. Laying her head against the smooth wall of the shower Emma closed her eyes.

The walk back home had, thankfully, been uneventful. They had passed Mr. Gold's Pawnshop on their way and Emma had every intention of going in until Snow touched her shoulder. Let's go home, she had said with a glance down at Henry. Emma sighed with relief that she did not have to deal with Gold that night. She was not sure how much more she could take and an encounter with him would surely mean puzzles and riddles that would only piss her off and give her no answers. Still, she knew she could not avoid him forever. She couldn't avoid anyone forever. She had to deal with Gold, find a way to bring August back, stop Regina and whatever evil plan she was coming up with, and solve all the problems of everyone in Storybrooke. She came to realize that not only was she the Savior, but her job was not finished. She belonged to one of the most important families in Storybrooke—everyone came to Snow and James for help and advice and by extension, they came to Emma and that meant she had to help.

Emma opened her eyes. She belonged. She belonged to someone. All she'd ever wanted in her life was to belong and now she did. She belonged to Henry and she belonged to Snow and James, her parents. Despite her shock, Emma smiled. She ran her fingers through her hair and turned the water off. She stepped out, already missing the beating of the scalding water, and wrapped herself in a towel.

* * *

Downstairs, Snow stirred the pasta around estimating that it still needed a bit more time. Henry and James came around the corner. Henry, comfortably dressed in a pair of pajamas, went over to the couch, turned on the television and lay on his side. James came over and wrapped his arms around her waist. Snow smiled and settled against her husband's chest.

"Do you need help?" he asked in her ear.

Snow shook her head. "No, I'm almost done. I'm just waiting for the pasta to finish."

She put the spoon down and let James settle his chin in the crook of her neck. Snow closed her eyes. It almost felt normal—her cooking dinner, a child watching television and the other taking a shower. It was not exactly as she had imagined her life would go-she was queen after all-but in a way this was better. There were no maids or guards to distract and interrupt them from their family time. She just hoped this time they would actually be able to sit and have dinner. It would be their first one as a family and Snow wanted everything to go fine. She didn't hope for perfect, because her family was far from that and something was sure to go wrong. If they could just eat in peace, it would be enough.

"I missed you," James whispered to her. Snow dug her fingernails into his hands.

"I missed you too, Charming," she said, then turned in his arms and gave him a kiss.

It was a sweet and light kiss, a kind they had yet to share in all the chaos of the last couple of days. James smiled against her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair.

"You know, I think I like this cut," he said pulling away a bit.

"Do you?" she asked reaching up and fingering the fringe around her neck. "I'm not so sure. I kind of miss my long locks. Especially when I look at Emma."

"She does have your hair," he laughed, nodding.

Snow smiled and then pressed her lips together. "You two get along so well."

James nodded proudly. It made Snow grin. Yet, she could not help but feel a little jealous. Since waking from the curse, she and Emma had not shared a proper moment. Emma had apologized about yelling at her, but that was not talking. That was apologizing. She wanted to talk to her daughter, know how she was doing, laugh with her. She wanted things to be as they had been.

"It will get better," James said, reading her thoughts.

Snow nodded and then brought up what she had been brooding over while cooking dinner.

"I was thinking tomorrow we could find Gepetto. I need to apologize to him."

James sighed heavily and turned his face away—his indication that he was not pleased with the prospect.

"He was trying to protect his son, Charming. Just like we were. We can't blame him for that. Besides, we have Emma. He still doesn't have his child back. I shouldn't have attacked him like that."

"Alright," James sighed and stroked her cheek.

Snow nodded, relieved to get that off of her chest. She hoped Gepetto would forgive her. She was only now starting to feel like herself once more. She shook her head at how angry she had been after gaining her memories back. It was true that as Snow she had a lot more kick than Mary Margaret but that did not give her free reign to scream and hurt people as she had been doing.

Snow turned out of James' arms and turned the stove off, moving the pot off of the hot eye.

"Here," she said handing James the colander, "strain the pasta. I'm going to tell Emma dinner is ready."

He took it from her with a wink and she kissed him, landing her lips on his scar.

* * *

Emma threw the towel onto the bed and finally noticed the two pills sitting on her nightstand. Beside them sat a cold glass of water. She smiled at James' thoughtfulness. She remembered him saying something to Henry about getting him medicine for his arm. He must have brought her some too. Emma swallowed the pills quickly and gulped down most of the water. When was the last time she had anything to drink? Setting the glass down she looked around her room, thinking she needed to clean up. She wanted Henry to be as comfortable as possible.

Her eyes landed on the box on the chair pushed in the corner. Her baby blanket lay strewn over the top as she always had it. Hair still dripping wet, Emma padded over to it and brought the box to the floor. She sat beside it and pulled the blanket into her arms. She marveled, as she always did, at how warm it always seemed. She knew it was just her association with it, but also wondered if the blanket had any magical properties itself. It never seemed to fade or wear or rip in any way. In the twenty-eight years she had kept it, it still looked brand new.

Settling the blanket into her lap, Emma turned to the contents of her box. Her fingers ran over file after file, each documenting a different phase in her life. There was the file of her first three years, her life with the Swan family. Then there was the file proving that she truly had not belonged anywhere. She had lived with over twenty families before she ran away at sixteen. She laid a hand on the small photo album in which she only had about ten pictures. She was not sentimental enough to keep pictures of her old families, but she had managed to keep pictures of herself. It was her way, a long time ago, of having something to show her parents when she eventually found them. She wanted to show them everything they had missed.

Thinking of that, Emma rummaged through the box until she found a thin black folder. Inside she only had one thing. She pulled it out and held it between her fingers. It was a crayon drawing she had made sometime in first or second grade. On it, she had drawn herself in the middle and her mother and father on either side of her. Back then, she had pictured her mother with long, spiraling blonde hair, just like hers and her father with a cropped cut. She had gotten her father right, even drawing him taller than her mother. Of course, they were a lot younger than she had thought.

It was a delicate picture and Emma ran her fingers over the tape that held it together. She had ripped this picture so many times she lost count, each time angry and knowing that her parents would never come. She ripped it viciously, her fingers tearing through the last layer of tape. And every time she sat hours after her rage had settled and pieced it together, taping it with gentle hands and assuring herself that one day, she'd have a mother to give this to. She'd have a mother who would post it on the refrigerator and tell Emma how proud she was.

Emma could do nothing to halt the tears sliding down her face. She placed the picture to the side of the box afraid her tears would stain it. A knock came to the door, but Emma didn't hear it.

Snow pushed the door open slowly and peered inside.

"Emma?" she said. She opened the door fully when she saw Emma sitting on the floor dressed.

"Emma, dinner is ready. James is setting the table now," she stopped when she saw Emma sitting crossed legged and noticed the blanket in her lap.

Slowly, Snow lowered herself to the floor, beside her daughter and looked around the curtain of her wet hair. She saw the steady stream of tears falling from Emma's eyes and wanted nothing more than to reach up and wipe them away. But she didn't.

"Emma," she said quietly, "what's the matter?"

Emma looked at her and shrugged. Her face grew soft and she looked at Snow through big eyes.

Her voice was quiet when she said, "Do you think I could talk to Mary Margaret?"

Snow blinked. "Um, of course."

Emma watched her squirm as if trying to figure out how best to become her old roommate. Snow finally decided that just sitting still might be her best bet, but Emma was not impressed. She reached forward and took Snow's arms, guiding them until Snow crossed them in front of her chest. Emma then took her shoulders and brought them forward to make Snow look as if she were shrinking into herself with cold. Last, Emma shook her hand through Snow's hair until the bangs flew down over her forehead. She sat back to admire her work.

"Does this make you feel better," Snow said with small grin.

Emma shrugged. "I'd feel better if you were wearing a cardigan."

Snow laughed and then looked at her warmly.

"What is it you wanted to tell me, Emma?" Snow asked.

Emma tried to imagine that they were sitting at the table, each holding a mug of hot chocolate and just talking about their days. Mary Margaret had just come from a long day of teaching and Emma had brought home more paperwork from the Sherriff's station.

"I miss you," Emma finally told her.

Now she became Mary Margaret. Her lips opened a little and the sad undertone of Mary Margaret's bright green eyes returned. Overwhelmed by the sight of her best friend, Emma lunged and wrapped Mary Margaret in a hug. Startled, May Margaret hesitated at first and then recovered, giving Emma and strong embrace back.

"I miss you so much," she said to Emma.

Emma pulled away and sat back, looking at her roommate with a smile. Mary Margaret took her hand and smiled. Emma squeezed it and then turned back to her box.

"I found my parents," she told her.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Mary Margaret asked. She turned her head to the side as Mary Margaret always did when trying to get something out of Emma.

Emma shook her head. "I don't know."

She eyed the picture on her side. She used to be so happy. She used to truly believe that she could be happy, that in the end her life would work out because her parents would come back for her.

"It's just not fair," Emma said. "My mother is…my mother is everything I wanted her to be. My parents are perfect. They would have been great parents to grow up with. My life would have been amazing. My father is nothing like all the fathers I had to live with. He never would have hit me or yelled at me for stupid reasons. He told me he was proud of me and I didn't even do anything! And I'm so mad we couldn't be together but it's like I can't even take it out on them because—I just wish they would have come for me. How could they forget me?"

Snow's lips quivered as she tried to hold back her tears. She was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions she was not sure whether she should kiss Emma or get on her knees and beg for forgiveness. She would have been great. Her daughter did not hate her, not at all.

"No crying, Mary Margaret," Emma ordered. Snow took a deep breath to steady herself.

Emma sniffed and brushed the tears from her own eyes. She glanced down at her blanket and played the soft fabric through her fingers.

"Okay," she said, "you can be Snow now."

Snow chuckled and dropped her arms, blinking the water from her eyes.

"I have something to give you," Emma told her. "But you can't cry, okay?"

Snow took a breath and nodded. Emma bit her lip. Maybe this was going too far. Was she even ready to start giving things away? She had made this with the intention of giving it to her mother and now her mother was sitting right here, wasn't she? A nerve pulsed nervously in Emma's temple. Emma took her moment of bravery and snatched the picture from the floor, shoving it into Snow's hands. She watched, her anxiety building immensely, as Snow took the picture and turned it in her hands. She ran her fingers over the soft crayon shapes and swallowed. Emma suddenly felt light headed and she wondered if she was going to pass out again.

Finally, Snow looked up and nodded as if trying to get the words out. "Thank you," she choked.

Emma sighed and felt the pressure lift from her lungs. She nodded back, thankful that Snow had not given in and broken down like she expected.

Snow stood up quickly needing to get out of the room as soon as possible. Her eyes burned and she knew she was going to start bawling if she didn't get away from Emma. Snow closed her hands around the picture, thinking that she would never let it go. In just three seconds it had become her most prized possession. She would sell her wedding ring a thousand times if it meant she could have this drawing forever. She finally understood how James felt—naked without his sword, her said. Holding her daughter's drawing, Snow felt whole again.

"Dinner is ready," she managed and then turned away, ready to run down the stairs and into her room.

But as she made her way out of the door, Emma reached out and grabbed her arm. Snow spun around and found her body pressed into Emma's. The hug startled her again, but she wrapped her arms around Emma's waist and pulled her daughter in closer.

"It's going to take me some time," Emma said in her ear, "but just know, I'm glad I found you."

Snow's face pulled into a sob and she squeezed Emma harder. "I love you, Emma."

She couldn't hold back any longer. Snow cried into Emma's shoulder, her body wracking with her sobs. Emma held to her tightly and rubbed a hand up and down her back as she'd done many times with Henry. When Snow was able to control herself again, she pulled away and smiled at Emma.

"Come on, before James burns dinner," Emma laughed.

* * *

"Come to the table, Henry," Charming said from the kitchen.

Henry turned off the television and ran as quickly as he could to the table. Everything was already laid out—four plates piles high with spaghetti and meatballs, the sauce drooling down the side of each of their plates. His stomach growled with the prospect. He swallowed several times, his mouth filling with saliva as he stared at the huge plate of food. Three days without dinner and Henry could not wait any longer. He picked up his fork and stabbed a meatball.

"Wait for the girls," Charming said, using his own fork to smack the meatball from Henry's mouth.

"Yeah, kid," he heard Emma call from the stairs.

Snow smiled and then went to her bedroom with a piece of paper in her hand. James smiled and opened his arms, showcasing the table to Emma.

"Ta-dah!" he said, with a grin.

Emma smiled and then dove into her father's open arms and gave him a hug. Shock spread over James' face but then he responded with even more enthusiasm and crushed Emma in his arms. Henry was shocked too. He had not seen Emma so openly accept her parents yet. He now wondered about all the moments when he had not ben spying. What had he missed? Emma pulled away sheepishly and sat down beside Henry, shaking his hair.

"Don't get used to it," she smirked. That was the old Emma.

James laughed and took his seat too. Snow emerged from the bedroom and hurried over to the table.

"Finally!" Henry cheered. "Let's eat."

"Wait!" said Snow, holding out her hand. Henry dropped his meatball and groaned.

She laughed, "One toast."

Everyone raised his or her glasses of water. Henry begrudgingly put down his fork and lifted his cup with his good hand.

"A toast to our family. We will always find each other," said Snow, looking directly at Emma.

Emma blushed and turned her head and looked at Henry. James grinned at Snow.

"Okay, let's eat!" said Henry, slamming the cup down and enchanting it for the meatball on his fork.

A pounding at the door made them all freeze. The noodles slipped from Emma's fork and slapped back into her sauce. They waited, as if hoping no one was actually at the door. Unfortunately, a fist pounded again, with more force.

Shaking his head, Henry stuffed the entire meatball into his mouth and scooped some spaghetti in for good measure. If they were going to go on another life threatening mission, then he wasn't doing it on an empty stomach. Following his lead, James, Snow, and Emma stuffed their forks, piled high with food, into their mouths. The fist thudded against the door as the Charmings swallowed mounds of food into their stomachs, enjoying their first dinner together with red stained cheeks and the sounds of the world needing them in the background. Each of them longed for the day when they would get to sit and enjoy a peaceful meal, but for now, this would have to do.


	33. Thank You

**Hello everyone,**

**I know I said a while ago that the story was done at chapter 33 and at the time it was. I feel like I wrote this story a year ago, even though it's only been a couple of months. I came back to finally do some editing and found my interest in it re-sparked. I also find that I write when I'm my most stressed and should probably be doing other important work.**

**So, I decided to pick it up again. I left it pretty open ended, which I'm pretty glad for because it gives me a place to start again. I'm sorry to all the people who started the story from the way beginning (when I started). You probably don't even remember what happened so I'll include a tiny recap in the next chapter.**

**Season two is great, but I find myself a little disappointed sometimes, which is another reason I feel like writing this again. But anyway...**

**I hope you enjoy the next couple of chapters. It should be fun for me, I only hope it's the same for you!**

**Shopowner26**

**Onto Part II-**


	34. Encounters

**Check the chapter before this for an explanation, but here's what's been going on.**

**Previously on Believing in Henry... (lol)**

**At this point in the story we start back with Emma's chapter. This is after Hook kidnapped Snow (trying to get to Henry), the Charmings and Regina have their confrontation in the woods, and Emma has been using magic (to send Henry and James away, to escape from Hook...). Also, James and Snow have made up. Emma and Snow are better now; they had their fight, Snow knows about August and the wardrobe, and Emma told her to just give her time. This is day four after the curse has broken.**

* * *

In reality, the curse had only taken seconds to break. All it had taken was for Emma to believe, to feel in her heart that everything her son had been forcing down her throat had indeed been true—that and love. But in the aftermath, it still seemed as if Storybrooke was weighed down by a horrible burden. For three days Emma had been forced to run around Storybrooke taking in the destruction of the end of the curse. Cars stood overturned, building signs collapsed onto the sidewalk, and for days it felt as if the people of Storybrooke were in a frenzy. There had been house burnings and mobs and meeting after meeting and that was outside of everything Emma and her newfound family had been experiencing. Emma had never really believed in her own emotional health—preferring to hold everything inside and let it fuel her, however terrible that was—but now she could say with confidence that she had never felt and expressed so many emotions in her life.

So, when she woke up, drenched in sweat and exhausted, she had a clear reason why. Emma sat up and for a moment did not know where she was. She only had to look at the nightstand to remember. She was not in her apartment in Boston, but in her room in Storybrooke, in the apartment she shared with Mary Margaret Blanchard, now known as Snow White—a.k.a. her mother. Emma sighed and blinked her sleep away, pulling the thick quilt off of her and sliding out of the bed. As she moved, her head turned and she smiled. Henry was curled tight against the wall, cocooned in most of the covers they had been sharing. She watched his chest rise and fall and the peaceful look on his face before leaning over and gingerly grabbing his arm. He had broken it only yesterday and she knew from experience that his current position would only hurt him when he finally did wake up. She admired the handy work of Doc's cast and then pulled the blankets back up to Henry's chin.

She was glad that he was finally sleeping. It had been a rough couple of days for him especially and for the past three nights, when he wasn't drop-dead exhausted, he had suffered nightmares. That, or Emma's own had woken him up. Emma pulled a sweater on and slid out of the bedroom, leaving the door a little open so that she would hear if he called for her. She padded down the stairs and was surprised to find James sitting at the table, a cup of coffee held up to his lips.

"Morning," he said swallowing.

"Morning," Emma replied. She poured herself a cup of coffee as well and wondered how long she had gone without any. It must have been days. As she made her way to the table she noticed she had not yet seen Snow. When she asked, James shrugged.

"She's still sleeping," he said giving Emma a strange look.

"Good. Henry too. Finally had a night with no nightmares."

"He was having nightmares?"

Emma nodded. "Ever since he woke up from his coma."

"Snow used to have nightmares. I'd be lying if I said they don't last long, but I'm glad he had a good night." James smiled a little over his cup and nodded to the curtain. "At least someone in this house is finding some rest."

Emma nodded solemnly, remembering her most recent dream. She had been back in her apartment in Boston. It was the day after her birthday and she'd woken up to find that none of it had ever happened. It was something she had secretly wished for many times in her time in Storybrooke but it wasn't until she felt the terror of it that she realized she didn't want it at all. From all the bad, she realized had sprung up a mountain of good.

"Why are you up so early?" she asked nodding and indicating James' outfit. He was already in jeans and one of his flannel shirts.

He started and glanced away from her quickly before returning his gaze. "Since Snow's still asleep I was going to take a drive through town, see if anyone needed me, maybe check on some people."

"I thought we were supposed to stay together?" Emma smirked over her coffee, repeating James' words from only the night before. "Snow wouldn't like you going off on your own."

James chuckled, "That's why I'm still sitting here."

Emma smiled, but tried to hide it in her coffee. She knew James would see it anyway and a huge part of her was glad for that. Since the curse had broken, talking to James had become the easiest thing Emma had yet faced. Maybe it was because she had not really known him as David Nolan, but Emma felt like she could have a clean slate with him. Her mind screamed _father!_ whenever she was around him, yet she was able to put that aside and talk to him. She felt like his equal. Had she really thought about it, she would have expected it to be easier with Snow. Mary Margaret and Emma had been best friends, it should have helped them, and yet it only seemed to get in the way. Still, after ignoring each other, screaming at each other and all the awkward glances, they had finally reached what Emma felt was a stable place. She would never forget the stunned look on Snow's face when she'd handed her mother a childhood drawing. Speaking of—

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" Emma demanded, harshly placing her half empty cup on the table in front of her.

James sat back and pursed his lips guiltily at being caught. She watched his blue eyes roam over the table for a moment before he mustered his resolve to speak.

"Look, Emma. I didn't want to say anything last night, not when we were finally having a peaceful night—?"

"Peaceful?" Emma scoffed. Just as the four of them had settled for their first dinner together—piled high plates of soft spaghetti noodles—someone had pounded at the door. They had only been able to scarf down a couple forkfuls before they could no longer ignore the beating the old wood was taking. When Emma opened the door, a couple of the dwarves, Leroy in the lead, came stumbling into the apartment raising up some sort of storm about Sneezy and the town line and tests. James had rushed out with Grumpy and Doc only after explicit directions from Snow to be home in an hour, on the hour, or she was going after him. Emma, Henry and Snow stayed home trying to get the full story out of the remaining brothers. By the time she and Henry had finally headed up the stairs, it was well past midnight.

"Well, as peaceful a night as we've had since," James laughed, but he turned stony very quickly. She found herself squirming under the scrutiny of his eyes. "But Emma, you used magic."

She dropped her gaze wishing he hadn't brought it up. She really did not want to think about it. After last night she had tried hard to forget that anything had happened, but she could feel it. It was in her blood, it tingled her skin. Every time she allowed herself a moment to remember it she pictured the crazy things she had done: making Henry and James disappear, choking Hook and his pirates with belts, propelling Snow feet through the air. She wanted to believe that if it was in her, that she was meant to have it, that it could be good, but so far everything she had done had been destructive.

"Snow told me what happened at the dock—"

"I didn't mean to hurt her!" Emma immediately said. She had to make sure everyone knew it. Whatever she was doing was out of her control. She didn't know they were happening until she was in the middle of committing it.

James reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing it and giving her a reassuring smile. "I know. I know you'd never hurt anyone, but we can't pretend it's not happening. This isn't about just everyone else. Magic is dangerous. You don't what it could do to you."

Emma nodded. "I just feel like we have so much to deal with: Hook trying to get to Henry, Storybrooke's still a mess, I have to help August, I haven't seen Gold since the curse broke and I _know_ Regina's up to something. I'd just rather not deal with it all at once."

"We'll figure it out. We're together now," James smiled widely. Emma smirked even though he was starting to make her feel calmer. "We can do anything."

Emma took a sip from her coffee to avoid answering. She was still highly aware of the fact that her father still held her hand, but she didn't pull away. Years ago, Emma had dreamed of this: walking down from her bedroom to her father reading the paper at the table and her mother flipping bacon on the stove. In her dreams they were blonde and smiled a lot, her mother forced her to change her outfit and then would usher her through the door for school while Emma tried to say bye to her father. It couldn't be further from the current truth but Emma felt peaceful with the reality she was living now. Her mother wasn't blonde, but she was beautiful. Her father wasn't the reading-the-paper type, but he'd pick up a sword in a heartbeat, and it was Emma's son that needed to be ushered off to school but she loved seeing the smile on his face.

"You said Gold had my sword, right?" asked James. Emma blinked and brought herself out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, why?"

"Maybe we should pay him a visit. Find out what he knows about the curse, magic, the town line…"

Emma shrugged, but turned around when she heard footsteps. Snow walked out of her room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Emma smiled at the hair sticking up at the back of her head.

"Morning," she yawned. James and Emma returned the greeting and watched as Snow made her way into the kitchen. "James, Red is coming over in a couple of minutes."

"How do you know?" he said putting his coffee down.

Snow held up the cellphone that Emma had not noticed in her hand. She held it up to her face and admired it. "Wonderful inventions, aren't they? I wish we had them back home, though I do miss my birds."

James laughed and stood up from the table, taking Emma's empty cup with him. He dropped them in the sink and leaned over to give Snow a kiss. She smiled against his lips. While they weren't watching, Emma smiled as well. Mary Margaret and David had nothing on the love Snow and Charming shared. Actually, their devotion to each other made the affair their counterparts had shared look like a little crush. She was still amazed that after fighting as badly as they had only a couple of nights ago, they could still be so completely happy being near each other. As sappy as it was, it gave Emma a little hope.

"Why don't Emma and I go grab breakfast from Granny's this morning? We'll bring something for Red."

Emma raised her eyebrows and walked over to the counter, leaning into it. Snow too, looked at James suspiciously.

"I could make breakfast," suggested Snow. "What are you doing, Charming?"

James held up his hands defensively. "I'm just trying to do something nice for my family, let my wife rest a bit. Hopefully she can avoid trouble for five minutes."

"And Emma?" said Snow grinning at Emma who was about to shrug when James stepped in.

"I need help carrying all the hot chocolates you're going to drink."

Snow laughed and swatted his arm, but she nodded and gave him permission.

"I guess I'm getting dressed?" asked Emma watching James through scrutinizing eyes. He only nodded and kept his face impassive.

Emma decided not to question it any further and hurried up the stairs to throw some clothes on. Henry was still knocked out, which she was glad for. Emma pulled a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt from her drawers and dressed as quietly as she could. The kid must have been exhausted, because he barely stirred, even when she dropped one of her boots and almost fell over trying to pull them on while standing. Shrugging on her red leather jacket, Emma approached the bed and turned on Henry's radio, setting it on the nightstand. She leaned down and placed a light kiss on her son's head. She watched his face for a moment longer, still in disbelief that she had produced someone so perfect. She guessed she had Regina to thank for some of it, but suspected it was all Henry. He was who he was despite his awful parents. She stood and clipped her own radio to her belt and then tiptoed from the room quietly.

Downstairs, Red had arrived and was caught in a tight embrace with Snow.

"I've been so worried about you," said Red into her mother's shoulder. Snow squeezed her friend tighter and then pulled away and gave Red a kiss on the cheek. Red then turned and made her way into James' tight hug.

Emma still couldn't believe that these three people were such good friends. Ruby had been a nice person, but she had never seemed particularly interested in Mary Margaret and especially not David. Now it seemed as if they couldn't get enough of each other, the way their smiles widened. Emma had never really had any best friends—except for Mary Margaret—but she was amazed to see how these people just seemed to fit together. A piece of her heart yearned for it as she stepped down the stairs.

Red finally turned from James' embrace and, spotting Emma, threw her arms around her too. She seemed genuinely excited to see Emma. Red pulled back and examined Emma's face.

"That cut still looks gruesome," she said pointing to Emma's hairline.

Emma reached up and touched the scabbed cut. She had completely forgotten it was there, but the memory of the night in the forest came rushing back. She realized how lucky she was to be alive. Thank god for Snow.

"Emma and I are going to go get breakfast, Red. What do you want to eat?"

Red shrugged, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, "I don't know. Anything and everything with meat."

James laughed and pulled his jacket on. He gestured for Emma to follow. Hand on the door handle Emma turned around and addressed Snow.

"Henry's still asleep but his radio is next to him. If we're not back before he wakes up, tell him to radio me."

"Of course," said Snow with an encouraging nod. Emma smiled at her and finally stepped out, lightly closing the door.

* * *

Emma found out very quickly that James was up to something when he drove right passed Granny's. She rolled her eyes, though she made sure she did it out the window so he wouldn't see. They hadn't talked since leaving the apartment, but Emma didn't feel uncomfortable. In fact, she felt incredibly peaceful letting her father drive her through town. She was surprised to find that she trusted him, but that didn't mean she didn't want to know what was going on.

"So, what _are_ you doing, Charming?" she said turning her head to face him.

He chuckled, "We're just making a quick stop by Gold's."

"Why?" Emma sat up and watched as they turned off of Main Street. The yellow sign above the antique shop gave into view.

"I finally have my sword and I can't tell you how much better I feel. There's a lot of stuff going on right now. I just feel like we need to be ready to protect ourselves. I want to see if I can find Snow's bow."

"So why did I need to come?"

He glanced over at her quickly. "We can kill two birds with one stone. Maybe he knows what can help Pinocchio and even what's going on with Regina. And…"

Emma furrowed her brow as James hesitated. She wondered what could trip him up and started preparing herself for the worst when he finally spoke again.

"Is it bad that I'd like to spend some time with you?" he said softly.

Emma's face opened into one of surprised. She was absolutely floored. He avoided eye contact, just as uncomfortable with admitting his emotions as she was. James sounded so unsure when he said it, like he was almost begging her to be all right with it. Part of Emma wanted to shrink away, hide from the hug her heart had just received, but she just looked down at her hands. She had to try, right? It had taken a lot for him to admit that to her, shouldn't she give him the same.

"No," she choked. She felt the tension in the car slowly fade, "it's not bad."

"Besides," said James, switching to a lighter note, clearly elated that Emma had not rejected him. He pulled the truck up to the curb and switched it off. "I want Snow to have at least one day that's as calm as possible. She's been on high alert lately and I just want her to relax. Having to deal with Gold is too stressful, I don't want her to have to handle it."

"Oh, so you don't mind stressing _me_ out," quipped Emma, stepping out of the truck, giving him an exasperated look, but he got the joke and they walked into Gold's shop smiling.

The bell tinkled overhead and Emma was suddenly glad that James decided not to bring Snow. She already felt something in the air of the shop—maybe it was from all her experiences coming in here—but she just felt like something would go wrong. One had to be guarded walking into Gold's shop, something she had quickly learned once she stayed in Storybrooke. There was no telling what he could weasel out.

The chime had alerted its owner that someone had arrived and Gold stepped from the back curtain promptly. Seeing Emma and James together he smiled that condescending smile that she hated. Emma brought her arms up and stared at the shopkeeper crossly.

"Well, aren't you two peas in a pod," he said pointing to them. It was only then that Emma realized she and her father were standing the exact same way: arms crossed under their chests and leaning back on one leg, as if physically holding themselves back. She quickly dropped her arms after he glanced her way.

"How can I help you?"

James dove right in, approaching the counter. "I heard you had my sword."

"I did," Gold nodded. "I assume you're hear to thank me for its safekeeping."

James didn't smile. He switched to a different foot. "Where's Snow's bow?"

"What makes you think I have it?"

"Don't you have everything?"

Gold smiled broadly. Emma watched from behind the tense banter between the two. She sensed already that James and Rumplestiltskin shared a deep history. They seemed to play off each other, as if this conversation had already been rehearsed. Emma kept her eyes going between the two of them.

"There are a lot of things in this shop, dearie. I can't say I've kept track of all of them."

James crossed his arms again and stared, long and hard, at Gold. Finally the short man licked his lips and laughed. He pointed to the front corner of the shop. "Take a look."

James glared for a second more and then turned his back, walking over to the appropriate section, but not before glancing once at Emma. She felt an entire conversation occur between that one flicker. She was sure if it was Snow, she would have gotten the entire message, but being Emma and not yet trained in the art of the-silent-and-incredibly-intimate-conversation, she only got one thing: be careful.

"It's good to see you, Miss Swan. How's young Henry?"

That sparked a red-hot flare within her. "Don't," she snapped.

He took a step back as if giving her the floor, though he stood behind the counter. Emma took a deep breath and quickly came up with something else before she flew across the counter and attacked him.

"You know August Booth?" she asked. Gold nodded. "He's turned into wood. How do I turn him back?"

The malicious smile on Gold's face disgusted her. It was as if he enjoyed hearing about August's "death". She glared but he only shrugged.

"I'm afraid for that, you're going to need fairy dust, which is _just_ out of my area of expertise," he said as if he regretted not being able to help.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course it is."

"By the way, Miss Swan," said Gold, walking further through the shop. Emma followed him with her eyes, "I'll be coming to you quite soon."

"Why?"

"You still owe me a favor," he reminded her.

"What?!" said James from behind. Emma jumped, almost forgetting he was still there.

She turned to speak, but someone interrupted her.

"Rumple?"

Emma and James turned to see a brown-haired woman poking her head out of the heavy back curtain. Her eyes catching theirs, she walked out into the room and smiled kindly.

"Hello," she said, with and accent as thick as Gold's. "I haven't met you yet, I think. My name is Belle."

She came around the glass counter and walked over, holding out her hand. Shocked, Emma glanced at James before shaking the woman's hand.

"Uh, Emma."

"The Savior!" said the woman, smiling brightly. Emma nodded uncomfortably.

James took her hand as well and introduced himself.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Yes, yes," said Gold, coming closer. "Charming here was just pillaging my shop."

With that, James snapped back into his annoyed glare and laid a couple things on the counter. A longbow, a quiver full of arrows, a heavy red cloak, and what looked like several swords, both steel and wooden.

"Would that be all?" said Gold. He seemed to hold himself with a slight difference. Emma eyed the woman who had come in, wondering what their relationship was.

James rolled his eyes, but in the middle of it he froze, his gaze held by something to his left. Emma, Gold, and the woman named Belle all turned their heads. Coming out of his trance, James stepped away from the counter and walked up to a white and blue unicorn mobile. He gripped the handle tightly and pulled it from the hook it was on.

"I do hope you're not going to break it. I quite like that one," Gold said, but James looked at him furiously.

"This is Emma's," he said sharply.

Emma froze for the second time today. She stared at the mobile in her father's hand. She remembered coming into the shop several times and thinking it was pretty. Beautiful, really with the intricate cut of the glass unicorns. They tinkled from being moved. She watched her father hold it protectively and could hardly understand what she was feeling. Pride? Happiness? Utter confusion was definitely one of them.

"How about I box that up for you?" said Gold, holding his arms out. Hesitantly, James gave it up to him and Gold laid it in a box slowly, making sure to lay the pieces gently. He handed the wrapped box to James.

"It was nice doing business with you, Prince Charming," said Gold, clearly dismissing them both. "I'll receive your payment soon enough."

James leaned into the counter, the muscles in his back flexing. "You don't own any of this."

Emma placed her hand on James shoulder, feeling the anger welling inside of him. "Let's go."

He listened and stepped from the counter, throwing the cloak and quiver over his shoulder. Emma grabbed the bow and swords and made her way out the door after James.

"We'll talk soon, Miss Swan," she heard Gold call after her.

The shop door snapped shut and but she felt the apprehension stay with her. As she placed the swords in the back of the pickup she shuddered to think of the favor she still owed him. She hated owing him anything and though making the deal had been worth it—to see Ashley, now Cinderella, keep her baby—she still feared what Gold had in mind. As she slid into the truck with James she tried to relax. It proved easier than she thought when her radio crackled from her hip.

"Emma? This is Henry," it said. "Can you get me a hot chocolate? Grandma wants one too, with extra cinnamon."

Both Emma and James grinned, dispersing for the moment any worries they had.

"No problem, kid," she radio back to him.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it. It felt good to write again. I'd, of course, appreciate comments/reviews. Thanks for reading!**


	35. Problems to work on

**I am honestly astounded by the response to this story. I just wanted to thank everyone again for all the review, favorites, and follows. It means so much to me and I can't believe you guys are still interested even when I haven't been updating. I can only hope to do you justice. I really enjoy the fun of writing and you guys make it even better. So thanks again!**

**This chapter was actually painful. I don't why it took so long for me to write it, but I struggled the entire time. Hopefully it doesn't read too poorly.**

* * *

As soon as Emma and James shut the door, Snow turned and threw her arms back around her friend. Red responded just as enthusiastically and they stood together, in the middle of the room, clutching at each other for dear life. Snow almost hated the tears that had sprung into the corners of her eyes, but she couldn't stop them. Red laughed into her shoulder, easing the tension and the friends parted, only just, still holding each other's arms.

"I've missed you," said Snow, her voice a little thick.

Red smiled. "Me too."

Brushing off the water from her cheeks, Snow pulled on Red's arm. "Come on. I should change."

They made their way through the sheer curtain separating Snow's bedroom from the rest of the bottom floor. Snow pulled it closed behind them and walked over to her closet. Red, making herself comfortable, sprang onto the bed and sprawled her body across it, her hair fanning out like a skirt.

"You're such a puppy." Snow grinned and threw a pair of socks at Red's face.

As Snow dug through her closet, pushing aside the many cardigans Mary Margaret had collected in twenty-eight cursed years, she and Red joked. For Snow, sitting there with Red, it felt as if the curse had never happened. Red's barking laugh filled the room and Snow could not help but feel brighter. It had been so hard for so long that Snow almost forgot what it was to just be. She was getting there with James; it seemed they had needed the fight to propel them back to a good place, but she was now afraid that it could happened again. With Emma, things were still shaky and she sometimes could not control the fear that gripped her and told her she and her daughter would never be the same. It seemed her relationship with Red, who she considered a sister, was the only one that came without any obstacles. Snow basked in the beauty of it.

"You seem happy," said Red, her voice growing a little more serious.

Snow pulled on a pair of jeans, looking down as she buttoned them. "Happier," she finally said.

"No," said Red. "You look good, better than before."

"I guess things are finally changing for the better. It's just a slow process."

"You and James?"

Snow looked up and gave Red a little smile. "We're good. We fought a couple times, but I think we're better now."

Red sat up, her black hair dragging across the old quilt on the bed. "Good. I hate to see you two at odds. What about Emma?"

"We're good too," said Snow immediately.

"Snow." Red stared with her signature look, long lashes darkening her eyes, demanding to be told the truth.

Snow hesitated for a moment. She pulled on a shirt, giving her a little time to think. How could she describe to Red her relationship with her daughter, when she couldn't even understand it herself? Instead of answering, Snow walked over to her dresser and opened the top drawer. From the back she pulled out a folded piece of paper and walked over to the bed and sat down. Red scooted over and eyed the paper. As if preparing herself, Snow took a deep breath and unfolded it, revealing the crayon drawing Emma had given her the night before. She ran her fingers over the smooth colors and traced the tape that ran over the many rips and tears. Snow looked over and noticed Red staring at it in confusion.

"Emma gave it to me," she said. When Red didn't look any clearer on the subject, she continued. "She drew it when she was a child. This is what she imagined her parents to look like."

Finally understanding, Red smiled a little, but she still looked at the drawing sadly. Snow sighed, waiting for her to voice her question.

"Why is it so damaged?"

Snow looked away from the picture and held Red's black eyes in her green ones.

"Because my daughter was, maybe still is," she whispered, almost afraid that by voicing it she would make it more real. "I feel like this one picture is her whole life laid out for me. She drew it when she was happy, when she imagined a good world for herself, and then tore it to pieces when something destroyed that image. Look at how many rips there are, Red."

She placed her finger on one of the most prominent tears, one that cut across the mother figure's face, until Red placed a hand on hers.

"But she put it back together, and it must have been really important to her if she kept it this long."

"She said she kept it to give it to her mother, to me, but I don't think she ever thought she'd get the chance."

Red sighed and took the picture from Snow's hands. Snow watched her friend take the drawing and walk over to the mirror. Red tucked the sides of the paper into the space between the glass and the wood of the mirror. It held and she stepped back to admire her work. Smiling gently, Red took Snow's hand and placed her in front of the mirror. Snow's eyes immediately went to the picture. She felt Red squeeze her shoulders.

"But she did get the chance," said her friend quietly. "And you and I both know it means something that she took it. You are not the woman that caused all of those tears. The curse, Regina, and a lot of other people did that. In a world of horrible options, you chose a bad one, but it was the best one."

Snow sniffed and placed her hand on the hand Red still had on her shoulder. They stood quiet for a moment while Snow processed everything her friend had just given her. Snow wanted to believe she was right. The fact that Emma had given her this drawing meant that Emma felt she had found her mother. It meant that Emma accepted Snow as her mother and that made Snow's heart swell more than anything. And what had Emma said after she'd handed it to Snow? She needed time, just a little more time. She had even given Snow a hug that had restored her faith that they could be happy, all of them. Snow closed her eyes and finally smiled, letting that hope refill her.

"Thank you, Red."

Red gave her a tight hug from behind. "Well, you know, wolves stand for wisdom in this society."

"I'm pretty sure that's owls," Snow said. Red shrugged and jumped back onto the bed.

They were both laughing again when they heard a pounding from outside the room.

"Emma!?"

"In here, Henry!" Snow called.

The curtain parted not a second later and Henry ran into the room a little out of breath. Snow frowned at the panic line across his forehead.

"Where's my mom?" he said, his eyes scanning the room and jumping over Red and Snow.

"She and James went to get us something to eat. Everything's okay. Come here," she opened her arms to him and grinned when he walked right into them, his casted arm pushing into her side and nose buried in her stomach.

She felt Henry turn his face and greet Red who smiled at him. "They went to Granny's to get breakfast. They should be back really soon."

"Oh yeah," said Snow, "Emma said to radio her when you wake up."

"Okay," said Henry pulling away. He ran from the room causing the curtain to float out, chasing the air he created, and bounded back up the stairs.

"It's so weird thinking that he's yours, you know," said Red. "That's he's your family."

"I can't believe it either," said Snow, gesturing Red from the room. They walked into the kitchen and Snow started pulling plates from the cabinets. "He's truly something special."

"Grams!" called Henry from the bedroom. "Do you want a hot chocolate too?"

Snow beamed from the name. At the counter, Red giggled.

James and Emma soon returned and found Henry and Red seated at the kitchen table, deep in conversation about what it was like to turn into a wolf. Snow had tried to steer Henry to a different, less uncomfortable conversation, but Red had shooed her away and taken it in stride. She settled right in front of her grandson and watched as Red waved her hands above her head, describing, in great detail, how the moon looked when it beckoned her.

"We come bearing gifts!" James announced as he and Emma entered, laden with bags and bringing in the saliva-inducing scent of coffee and hot chocolate.

"Finally," said Henry. "I'm so hungry. Why did you guys take so long?"

"Like I said," James walked breakfast over to the counter, where Snow pulled it closer and started opening all the containers, "we can't bear gifts without first getting some."

He turned with a mock huff and then pulled a heavy, bright red jacket from his shoulder.

"To Red," he said holding it out. Both Red and Snow froze, eyeing the fabric.

"My cloak," Red whispered in disbelief.

Snow glanced up at Charming and found him beaming-quite pleased with himself. Beside him, Emma was watching Red's face in confusion. Red pushed herself out of her chair slowly and took the cloak in her arms. She stared at it for what felt like hours, running her long fingers over the intricate design and the tassels that tied around her neck. Snow waited quietly, knowing how shocked Red must have been. Shocked and relieved. For twenty-eight years she had never seen the cloak, her sole most important piece of clothing, the one thing that defined her, and suddenly it was back in her arms, just when she needed it the most.

When she finally looked up, her soft black eyes were brimming with tears. "You found it."

"I will always find it," said James smilingly.

Red beamed and then dove into his arms. James laughed—oh, how Snow loved his deep laugh—and wrapped Red just as tightly. She still remembered how easily Red and James had become friends. If Snow and Red were sisters, then she and James had become brothers—Red able to keep up with his jokes and love of animals and the woods more so than Snow.

"Now you don't have to be afraid of the full moon," said Henry, coming over to the counter and seating himself on a stool.

"Now _I_ don't have to be afraid of the full moon," said Emma dropping everything in her hands onto the table.

Snow grinned, glad that Emma could laugh about the night she'd seen Red transform. Red pulled away from James and glared at Emma.

"Watch it, young lady," snapped Red, though Snow could hear the smile, "I am still your godmother."

It took Emma a second to really understand what Red had said, but when she finally did, her face fell. "What!?"

"That's right," sang Snow passing Henry a plate of pancakes and sausage.

"You have got to be kidding me?" Emma held her arms out in her classic "come on" pose, mouth open and everything. Snow only laughed.

Red walked over and patted Emma on the arm. "It's okay."

"So where did you find Red's cloak?" asked Snow. She finished dividing the food and passed each of them a plate.

"Where else?" said James. "Gold."

"Didn't Emma say he had your sword to begin with too?" She looked to her daughter who nodded over her plate.

"That's not all he had," said James.

He walked over to the table where Emma had left everything and pulled a long bow from the stack of swords. Snow gasped and almost ran to it. It was her bow, fashioned by Gepetto specifically for her. James handed it to her and Snow smiled. It felt like being home, holding it in her hand, feeling the balance, the weight, against her wrist. James presented her with a quiver full of arrows and Snow immediately pulled one out and cocked it.

"You can actually shoot that thing?" said Emma with a full mouth.

"Oh, honey, if you only knew," said Snow.

She pulled her arms into position and aimed the arrow at one of the posts. She imagined the whistle it would make where she to release the arrow, but she didn't. Inside was not the place to play with a weapon, especially not with her family so close. Snow gave Emma a wink, which earned raised eyebrows. She placed the bow back onto the table and noticed that among the wooden and steel sword was a large box. She reached out for it and was about to ask what it was when Henry's asked,

"So, what are we doing today?"

"Well, we should go to Granny's. That's actually why I came by," said Red, turning in her seat to better face them all. "Everyone is waiting to hear from you. They're all on call."

"Yes, Thomas said something about that," said James.

"I have to talk to the Blue Fairy," said Emma. "I can't leave August anymore."

"I'm sure she'll be at the meeting," Snow assured Emma, walking over to pick up her hot chocolate. Her food had grown cold, but the chocolate was as warm as ever. She felt it sidle into her blood and warm her toes.

"I'm not so sure," said Red biting her lip.

"Why not?" asked James. "She was there last time. She'd want to be in the loop, wouldn't she?"

Red set down her fork and looked at Snow. It was a look Snow recognized very well, she was about to hear something she might not like.

"Look, the last time you were all in the same room it didn't end so great. I don't think she'd want to put herself in that position again. Not so soon after…everything."

Snow dropped her gaze. It was her fault for reacting the way she did. She cringed when she thought about all the screaming and the way she had hurt Gepetto. To be fair, they had all hurt her in a way they could never take back, but that did not excuse what she did. She was their Queen, their friend, she was supposed to be above that. She hated that her friends had to see her that way.

"Okay," said Emma. "Then I'll go talk to her."

James immediately disagreed. "I don't want to be separated."

"We were just apart a couple of minutes ago. You and I were gone for almost an hour and nothing happened. Maybe Storybrooke is finally calming down."

"Emma," started Snow.

Emma turned to her, her eyes pleading. "We have a lot to get done, and something tells me, not a lot of time to do it. You go talk to the other princes and princesses or whatever and Henry and I will go to Mother Superior. We can meet back here in two hours."

"You can't know if something's going to happen," argued Snow. She didn't want to let her daughter out of her sight, least of all without one of them with her. "What if you need help?"

But Emma took her insistence the wrong way. "I don't need to be babysat," she snapped.

Snow almost took a step back from the harshness of Emma's words, but Emma looked like she immediately regretted it. They both looked away. James stepped in and agreed to the compromise. He and Snow would go with Red and talk to their allies, and Emma and Henry could talk to Blue. Rather than meet at home, he suggested they meet at the Sherriff's station; it was a good middle place for all of them and gave them easy access to the rest of Storybrooke.

"Okay then. Come on, kid."

Emma hurried Henry up the stairs to change and grab some things. Snow and Red cleared the remainders from breakfast and James took the phone and started calling everyone for the meeting. They were downstairs in no time and the family ushered out of the apartment quickly. On the street, Snow gave Emma a smile, which she returned. They parted at the crosswalk, Emma and Henry headed to the monastery and Snow following James and Red to Granny's.

The meeting was only a small party this time. It was mainly the members of their war council: Red, Granny, Grumpy and Doc standing for the rest of the dwarves and Lancelot; Princes Philip and Eric decided to join and with them came Abigail and Frederick and Thomas. Jiminy was there, surprisingly, and looking incredibly guilty when Snow and James entered. Snow walked to him immediately and hugged him, hoping he would understand her forgiveness. When James came over and shook his hand, it seemed he did.

Once again, Snow found it extremely difficult to concentrate. They discussed the town line, which Grumpy said they had marked off with spray paint to alert the residents, and talked again about Regina and what to do with her. Snow was much more concerned with what Emma was doing. She knew her daughter did not need her, not really. Storybrooke was in a dangerous time, but it was not as if Emma could not handle herself. She was twenty-eight, for gods' sakes, and she had seen her fair share of fights. She also had magic, which should have comforted Snow but only made her more agitated. Though she knew her children would be safe with the Blue Fairy—and she considered Henry almost her own child—she found herself imagining them walking down the street, any number of dangers around the corner. She saw Hook's face again, though with it came the image of Emma choking him, and she saw Regina, her black eyes dark as she stalked towards Emma and Henry.

Finally, the meeting ended and all she came away with was that they were going to try to lead life as normal as possible until they figured a way around the curse holding them. Maybe they could even try to go back, though a huge part of Snow doubted it. She'd seen her castle destroyed before her eyes faded to black. She doubted whether anything was left to go back to. James said Emma would probably want to continue as Sherriff and that he and Snow would act as sort of mayors, for now. Grumpy talked about the dwarves having been in the mines with the fairies, looking for fairy dust and Granny agreed to keeping the diner running as she had. People had to eat.

The council adjourned after an hour and a half, but Snow was out of her seat as soon as she heard them pushing their chairs back. She wanted to get to the station as soon as possible. Two hours was too long. She took James' hand and almost dragged him from the diner as they waved goodbye to their friends.

James squeezed her hand as they walked quickly down the sidewalk. She realized, but his long strides, that he was just as anxious as she to get back to their daughter and grandson. She smiled up at him; he knocked their shoulders with a cheeky grin. As they turned the corner a man stepped out of a car and hurried to them, stopping them.

He was tall, almost as tall as James, with mousy brown hair. He smiled politely and his eyes brightened, the corners crinkling.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, a slight huff in his voice from jogging to meet them.

"Not at all," said James looking at the man strangely. Snow didn't recognize the man either.

"Is there some place I can get a room close by?"

Snow started and crossed her arms. "You're not from Storybrooke?"

The man looked at her and shook his head. "Uh, no."

"How did you get here?" asked James. He stepped forward, slightly in front of Snow.

The man seemed thoroughly confused now. "I drove," he said very slowly, almost questioning his own actions.

James opened his mouth, but Snow cut him off. "Granny's Bed and Breakfast is around that corner and all the way down the street. It's on your right; you can't miss it. Tell Granny that Mary Margaret and David sent you."

The man thanked them, with a curt bow and turned, heading back to his car, which didn't look anything like the cars in Storybrooke. It was shinier, black with a smooth grill and an elegant curve in its design. They watched the stranger pull away and turn the corner.

"I thought people couldn't cross the line," said Snow.

James was still facing the end of the street, as if still watching the stranger's car disappear. "We can't," he said, taking her hand once again. "I think we have a problem."

He pulled on her arm and together they rushed to the Sherriff's station, praying Emma and Henry were already there.

* * *

**Thoughts, reviews, and PMs are, as always, more than welcome. Thanks for reading!**


	36. Magic

Chapter 36: Magic

As Emma and Henry walked down the streets of Storybrooke, Henry realized that Emma really had no idea where they were going. Though she had been sheriff for almost a year, her face clearly said she didn't know how to get to the monastery—at least, not on foot. Henry smiled to himself but kept quiet, giving her a little time to figure it out. She kept her hand on his good shoulder and he walked with her until they came to a corner. She turned right and he moved forward slipping out of her grasp.

"Emma, where are you going?" Henry asked, his body poised to cross the street. "The monastery is this way."

She opened her mouth as if to give him an excuse or maybe a joke to save herself, but Henry only smirked. "I knew that," she said shrugging.

"No, you didn't." Henry grinned and held out his hand to her. Emma took it and let him lead her across the street. He did give her the benefit of the doubt though. Storybrooke seemed small but that was only because everyone knew each other from twenty-eight years in a curse and the numerous years they'd spent together before hand. Really, Storybrooke was a labyrinth and he marveled at how more people didn't get lost more often.

"Do you know everything about Storybrooke?" Emma asked, looking down at him. Her blonde hair was loose and flitted around her shoulders, brilliant in the afternoon light.

"Pretty much," said Henry. Emma chuckled and shook her head.

He said it jokingly, but really Henry did know everything about Storybrooke. He had spent months, even before leaving to find Emma, exploring and trying to figure out why everything about the town felt strange. He had only gotten the book from Mary Margaret about a month before leaving Storybrooke for Boston, but Henry had always known in his gut that something was very wrong. He never understood _why_ he had known. He had grown up in Storybrooke, never leaving or seeing anything else of the world; this town was his world. For him, everything should have seemed normal, but from the beginning it hadn't.

The more curious he became, and the more his mother obviously lied, the more Henry took his hours after school and before dinner to explore the town. Because of that, he did know everything about Storybrooke. He knew how almost none of the headstone in the cemetery had inscriptions, and those that did were of names of people no one could remember even existing. He knew the docks held ships that never went anywhere and weren't owned by anyone. Henry knew there was a well on the other side of town that was rumored to have magical properties but he could never figure out how it worked. And he knew the monastery was close to the docks almost in a part of Storybrooke that was secluded.

Though he knew where the monastery was, Henry had never personally been there. They approached the hill and watched as the high steeple grew in the distance. The leaves were soft under their feet and Henry felt something in the air. It was like a buzzing, a slow hum that vibrated through his body. Suddenly he remembered that the nuns were really fairies. He wondered if the hum was the presence of magic, heavy because of the concentration of magical beings. Emma's hand tightened in his grasp and she slowed her walk. But Henry, excited to talk to the fairies, pulled on her hand and walked up the hill with more purpose.

Soon they were at the door of the stone-faced building, knocking on the soft wood. The door opened quickly and a small black woman revealed herself. Her eyes widened as they alighted on Emma, and she bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty," she said, her voice full of an unimaginable reverence. Even Henry's eyebrows shot up. He looked over at Emma and almost smiled at the confused look she gave the nun/fairy.

"You don't have to do that," she said as the fairy stood. "My name is Emma."

She struck her hand out for a handshake, which the fairy took with a wide grin plastered on her face.

"How can I be of service to you, Savior?"

Emma glanced once at Henry before straightening up. She assumed the role of Sheriff, her face all business and impassive.

"I need to speak with Mother Superior. Immediately."

The fairy nodded enthusiastically. "The Blue Fairy has been hoping for a chance to speak with the royal family. Right this way."

Henry followed Emma through the door and together they followed the fairy through the dark halls of the monastery. Storybrooke wasn't necessarily a happy place to begin with, but Henry felt as if the monastery had suffered a great deal. The walls were cold stone and those areas that had been painted were peeling. The wood floors were worn and unpolished and as they climbed the stairs to the second floor the stained glass windows appeared more stained than they did artistic. Still, Henry felt safe within the walls. It wasn't just because Emma was close, a hand always in contact with some part of him. There was something protective about the hard exterior of the nuns' monastery.

They found the Blue Fairy in an office at the far end of a hall. When the door opened she turned away from the fairy she had been speaking with and her shoulders straightened.

"Emma," she said, stretching out a hand, inviting them in. She turned to the fairy beside her—a short and stout woman with curling gray hair—and said, "We can continue this discussion tonight, Merryweather."

"Of course," said Merryweather. Her smile was radiant as she passed Emma and Henry. She closed the door behind her.

"I am so glad you've come to see me, Emma," said Blue. She gestured for them to take seats on the old couches pushed against the far wall. Henry plopped down, surprised to find the cushions still springy. Emma smiled down at him. Blue took a seat to their side.

"I heard there was another council meeting this afternoon," she said.

Emma nodded and leaned forward. "Just so you know, Snow and James feel bad about what happened a couple days ago. They wanted to apologize."

"And yet, they have nothing to apologize for," said Blue shaking her head. "Your parents have always been too kind, too forgiving. Anyone else would have my head. They would see it as treason."

Emma suddenly looked at the fairy with sharp eyes. "And it wasn't? They may be forgiving, but I'm not so easy."

Both Henry and the Blue Fairy stared at Emma. He heard the sharpness of her tongue and swallowed. He was wrong to think that maybe Emma was over everything that had happened. She had given her father, Charming, a hug on her own and seemed happy to be around her family, but the anger was still there. A part of him wanted to admonish Emma and tell her to try to be a little happier but at the same time, he knew there were a lot of factors at play. He thought about his own situation. He was still mad at his mother for everything she had done to him and for making his life miserable, but he still loved her. As much as that irked him, he still couldn't stand the thought of seeing anything awful happen to her. And he knew he loved Emma for a fact, but sometimes the thought would creep in and he would find himself hating her for giving him up. He imagined what life would have been like with his real mother and his firefighter father. Sometimes he couldn't forgive Emma for taking that from him. In the woods the night before, when he looked at Regina and Emma facing off he saw the Evil Queen and the woman who gave him away: two people who had, in their own ways, made his life a very sad one. But he also saw two women who meant more to him than anything else.

"Emma, I am truly sorry—" started the Blue Fairy, but Emma cut her off.

"It's not me you have to apologize to. It's them," she said nodding her head as if her parents sat right beside them. Henry kind of wished they did. "It wasn't me you lied to. You hurt them."

"Nevertheless," Blue said with sad eyes that flickered over Henry, "you all suffered."

Emma crossed her arm over her lap and took Henry's good hand into her own. Henry squeezed and tried to give his mother a good smile. She returned it and turned back to the fairy.

"Yeah, well," she said shrugging off the last conversation, "that's not what we're here to talk about. Do you know August Booth? The stranger that came into town a couple of months ago."

"Yes," the fairy nodded. "Pinocchio."

"You knew who he was!?" Henry piped up. She would have had to know before the curse broke; Emma said he had turned before she could break the curse.

The Blue Fairy nodded and said, "I had a couple of conversations with him. I realized, after I regained my memories, who he must be. Especially after finding out Gepetto has not yet found him. Has he left Storybrooke?"

"He turned back into wood," said Emma bluntly. Emma was never one to sugar coat things.

"Wood?"

"Like, all over," said Henry, waving his hand in front of his face. He remembered August's eyes. Those had been the most terrifying. The Blue Fairy's eyes widened and she sat back, surprised.

"How could that have happened?"

Emma shook her head but Henry answered. "He said he wasn't a very good boy. He was turning for a long time."

"It was my fault," Emma admitted, tightening her grip on Henry. "He tried to tell me about the curse but I didn't listen. I couldn't save him in time. But I'm here now, and I need help. I have to turn him back."

Again, the Blue Fairy shook her head sympathetically. "Emma, for that—"

"I need fairy dust," Emma said. "I know. Gold said so."

"Yes, but you also need magic," the fairy explained. "We only have a little fairy dust stored away—until the dwarves find more. And still, we don't have any magic."

"But aren't you magical? Can't you do something?" Henry asked.

The Blue Fairy finally turned to him."Yes, Henry, but magic is not so easy. Fairies, we are magic, but with nothing to channel our magic, we are little else. We don't have any wands."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Well then, how do we get wands?"

"That is what the other fairies and I have been working on. Our wands are gifts, bestowed upon us by the purest of magical creatures. They're made from the horns of unicorns."

"Unicorns," Emma sighed obviously annoyed.

"As you may have noticed, there are no unicorns in Storybrooke."

"So then I'm stuck? We can't bring him back?"

But Henry shook his head. Just because the fairies couldn't use magic didn't mean there was nothing to do.

"What if you gave the fairy dust to someone who _could_ use magic?" he asked.

"I don't think Mr. Gold is going to be gung ho about helping us, kid," said Emma immediately.

"Nor would Regina," Blue added.

Henry shook his head. "No, not them. You, Emma," he said looking directly at his mother.

She leaned back automatically and looked at him as if he were crazy. But Henry wasn't crazy. It was obvious Emma had magic. Powerful magic. He didn't know if she had done anything else but to send him and his grandfather miles into the wood with just her hand meant she was something special. If she could do that, was it so hard to believe that she could turn a puppet back into the human he was. She had broken one curse already. Who was to say that she couldn't break another.

"Kid," started Emma.

"I thought something was different," whispered Blue. She was looking at Emma with bright eyes, scanning his mother up and down.

Emma started back wearily. "What does that mean?"

"Magical beings," Blue said quietly, "we can feel each other, sense one another's presence. We have a certain pull." She moved her hands demonstrating the attractiveness of them. "In the hospital, when the curse broke, I sensed something different. At the time I thought it was just the magic that had come to this land and my memories. But even now I can feel it. It's you. You are magic."

Henry froze. he had not even considered that as a possibility. How did one become magic? He knew Regina and Mr. Gold had magic, but that came from years of dealing and training to learn how to use it. What Emma had done was not planned and in the second before he disappeared he was sure he saw fear in her green eyes. if Emma was magic, a pure form of it, then she truly was a powerful being. She was like the fairies and even like unicorns, one of kind.

"That's…ridiculous," Emma said, taking her hand off of Henry's knee and wringing it in her own lap.

But the Blue Fairy continued on as if she hadn't heard. "The product of True Love, of course."

"Okay, stop."

"Emma," Henry said turning to her. "You're probably more powerful than my mom and Mr. Gold!"

"Our savior," said Blue with awe.

Emma turned away from both of them and took a minute to compose herself. She took several deep breaths but Henry couldn't understand why she was so anxious. Emma having magic, _being_ magic, was wonderful. It made sense. That's why she could break the curse and bring happy endings to all the sad fairytales. Maybe that's why his mother never seemed to be able to keep the upper hand during her battle against Emma. Emma wasn't only strong willed, but she was literally powerful—a pure source of magic, even when she didn't know it.

Emma finally turned around and looked at the Blue Fairy. She seemed determined and strong. Henry beamed.

"If I have—am—magic, can I save August? Can I turn Pinocchio back?"

The Blue Fairy nodded. "I think you could."

"Then I need fairy dust," said Emma standing up.

But the Blue Fairy immediately protested. "I think we should wait until the dwarves have found more. Using our little supply—"

"You owe my family," said Emma, "and I'm cashing in."

And with that, Emma effectively ended the conversation and any further debate. Henry stood up next to her and they waited while the Blue Fairy seemed to weigh her options. She finally nodded and stood up as well, leading them from the room with her shoulders somewhat resigned. They found, in another room deep in the basement of the monastery the supply of fairy dust. The Blue Fairy pulled out a small cloth bag, tied at the top with a thick string. She handed the bag of fairy dust to Emma who held it in her hand as if it were a bomb.

"You must be careful with that, Emma," said the Blue Fairy.

Emma tucked it into the pocket of her leather jacket and then took Henry's hand. "I will be."

Then, they left, leaving the fairies in search of wands to make them powerful again. But Henry now felt a power radiating like heat on his side—not from the bag of fairy dust, but from his own mother.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I don't know if I mentioned it before, but i always thought that Emma was literally magic. Like Gold said, he took advantage of what she was. He needed magic in a land without any and he made sure Emma was delivered to our world.**

**Anyway, please review. Thanks for reading.**


	37. True Love

Chapter 37:

The walk to the station went fairly quickly, but the entire time, Emma felt…loaded. It was the only word that seemed to fit just how heavy she felt. Beside her, Henry walked with a bounce in his step and a buzz in his aura, which only served to make Emma shaky. She loved seeing her son happy—she had come to learn that nothing could make her happier—but at the moment, it just made her more anxious and she had to focus to keep her hand steady in Henry's. He grinned to her often, and she smiled back, not wanting him to know the way her stomach was roiling.

It wasn't just the bag of fairy dust sitting in her pocket or the conversation they had just had with the Blue Fairy, it was the fact that it was all so true. Two months ago, Emma would have walked around with a bag of dust in her pocket and grinned at Henry, humoring him and herself as she pretended she had magic with her. Now, Emma would be stupid to push everything aside. And because she accepted it, things were different. The bag was heavy hidden in her pockets. She tried hard to ignore the way it slid across her waist as they trudged through the streets of Storybrooke. Real magic, she now knew, came with consequences. Always. It had already taken her son once, and as Emma squeezed Henry's hand in her own, she feared that it would do it again. The fairy dust sat in her pocket, waiting like a bomb, between herself and Henry.

But even heavier than the physical magic, was Emma's own body. She walked normally—if not a little faster thanks to Henry's excitement—but Emma felt like the insides of her body were moving in slow motion. She could feel the blood running through her arms, down her legs, pooling in her toes and shooting back up. She felt it pumping in her heart, in a way she had never felt before. Her blood buzzed with the magic. Her skin tingled with a lightness that would have made Emma feel amazing…if she wasn't so scared. But at the same time, she felt empowered. It was odd combination that had Emma's mind spinning, but as they reached the station she tried to suppress her worries; she didn't want Snow and James to think anything was wrong.

Henry let go of her hand and ran to the door. He pulled, but it didn't open.

"Guess they're not here yet," he said with a shrug.

Emma dug in her pocket and pulled out the keys. She pushed the door aside, letting Henry slip passed her and enter first. Her first step inside had her feeling instantly better. Even with the fallen pictures and turned over plants, Emma felt a sense of homecoming. She stood in the hallway for just a moment, letting the feeling reassure her. She smiled and tossed her keys with a small laugh at herself and followed Henry.

"Yikes," he said as she walked up beside him.

That might have been an understatement. Though the outside of town had been somewhat cleaned after the destruction of the purple cloud, the Sherriff's station had gotten no such luck. Emma hadn't been there in almost five days, and now she didn't know how she was supposed to get it back in order. Both outside desks were turned over, the contents of their drawers spilled like dropped food on the floor. Papers littered the floor, creating a carpet of white and black, information thrown into every corner of the room. Emma groan. She really hated paperwork.

"Let's get to work," she said, running a hand over Henry's head.

Henry helped her turn the desks back onto their legs and close the now, mostly empty drawers. Emma lifted the computers back onto the desks, surprised that neither monitor had cracked, while Henry got on his hands and knees to right the plants that had been knocked over. He scooped some of the dry dirt back into the pots. Emma focused then on the papers on the floor. She didn't even bother to look at what was on the pages and just placed one handful on top of the other creating a haphazard stack. They worked only for a couple of minutes before Henry fixed a chair in front of one of the desks and plopped into it.

"This is going to take days," he sighed.

"Yup," she agreed and pulled the bag of fairy dust from her pocket. It fell to the desktop with hardly a sound. Emma rested her hands on the desk and leaned against them, releasing a heavy sigh. She looked up to find a question burning in Henry's eyes, but before he got to ask it the door swung open and Snow and James walked in.

James bit his lip at the mess, but Snow barely seemed to notice it. Her eyes landed immediately on Emma, and she rushed forward. Before Emma had a second to react, she found herself in the arms of her mother. Her eyes widened and she stumbled against the sudden weight, but Snow held her tightly, keeping them both upright.

"You're all right," Snow sighed into Emma's shoulder.

Emma repositioned herself, recovering from her shock, and placed her hands lightly on Snow's back.

"We weren't even gone the full two hours," Emma huffed. Snow let go and shyly turned away.

"I know, I was just worried," she said, walking over to Henry and hugging him as well.

"We have a problem," James interjected, sitting slightly on the desk.

"What is it?" Emma asked, dreading the tone in his voice. They really did not need anymore problems.

"There's a stranger in Storybrooke," he said.

"Really!" said Henry from his chair. He was still tucked under Snow's chin, but he sat up quickly and leaned forward, asserting himself into the conversation. "But that's not possible."

"Apparently, it is," said Snow.

Emma ran a hand through her hair. This was _really_ not something they had time to handle. She thought of everything else they were supposed to be doing. "Do you know who this person is? Name?"

"We didn't ask," Snow said. "He asked us for a place to stay and we pointed him to Granny's. He had a pretty fancy car, but that's all we know."

"Well," said Emma, crossing her arms and growing hopeful, "that doesn't mean he's not from Storybrooke."

"We've never seen him before, Emma," James argued.

"That doesn't mean anything." Emma shrugged her shoulders. "This is a pretty big town and no offense, but you were only out of your coma for a couple of months, and Mary Margaret wasn't exactly the sociable type. There's no way you could know everyone."

"Then why ask about a place to stay?" Snow asked.

"I'm sure a lot of people have been uprooted since everyone got their memories back. I mean, think about David. How many fake marriages did we really have?"

Snow nodded slowly, but James still looked like he wasn't convinced.

"I think we should find out more about him," he said.

"Fine," Emma groaned. "We'll just add that to the impossible list of things we have to do."

"Speaking of things to do," Henry said, starting to bounce again, "don't you want to know what the Blue Fairy said?"

Snow immediately snapped her head up and stared at Emma. "How did it go?"

Emma tilted her head nonchalantly. James had just earlier had a conversation with her about how dangerous magic was. She wondered how he'd feel about her purposefully using it now. She wondered how she could make the situation sound less than it was, but Emma didn't even have to bother. Henry was ready with the answer. He dove into the story of their conversation with the fairy, even including Emma's demand for an apology to her parents. Both of them looked away from Henry at that. In their faces, she saw surprise. James smiled at her with pride, which again just confused her. How could someone continually be proud of her for doing nothing? But as always, it was easier to look at her father than her mother. Snow's face was filled with so much love and hope it made Emma's mind go numb. But Emma didn't have to look away for long. As Henry told them about the fairy dust and Emma's newfound identity, their faces fell.

"She wants _you_ to use the fairy dust?" asked James, eyeing the bag on the desk. "Shouldn't the fairies be doing this?"

"They don't have their wands," Henry answered.

Snow shook her head. Panic was already creeping into her eyes. "Emma, you don't have to do this."

"If it can save August, then I do," she said. She didn't think about whether or not she was even _capable_ of doing it.

"Emma, magic is dangerous," said James. He stood up from the desk, looking extremely agitated.

"Trust me, I know," Emma assured him. "But—"

"No." He shook his head.

"James," Snow warned, but the damage was already done.

Emma knew better. He only had her best interest at heart, but all Emma heard was someone telling her what she could not do, and that never went well. Something in her mind had switched. She could feel the recklessness bubbling under her skin. All the voices of all the crappy guardians she had ever been forced to live with came back to her. This time is different, she tried, in vain, to tell herself.

"Emma," James sighed, and Emma wondered just how angry she looked. "I didn't mean—"

"We're going now," she said, snatching the bag of fairy dust off the desk. "Come on, Henry."

She waited only for her son to appear at her side before disappearing into the hallway and out the door.

* * *

By the time they got to the bed and breakfast, all of Emma's senseless anger had gone and been replaced by an extreme nervousness. Her parents stood right behind her, and she knew they would support her if that was what she really wanted, but her pride wouldn't let her turn around and look at them. She knew she was acting like a child—Henry acted more grown up than she—but she kept walking and pushed her way into the small house. Neither Red nor Granny were there to appear with knives this time, so Emma continued up the stairs. She was sure Henry could feel her shaking this time. He kept glancing up at her, though thankfully, he never indicated anything to Snow and James. They approached August's door. Granny and Red must have fixed it because it stood on its hinges firmly, the wood still splintered, but closed tightly. She could have stood outside the door forever. She knew once she went in, there was no turning back. She would have to use magically voluntarily and to do something she was not even sure was possible. If she went in and failed…if she failed in front of her parents…Emma shook her head and opened the door quickly. Without thinking, she strode into the room and went right up to August in the bed.

He was the same as he had been the night she broke the curse. Henry let go of her hand and stood off to the side. She smiled at him, hoping to ease some of his fear. Of course, he smiled back, but his hands twitched with nerves. Emma took the bag of fairy dust and slowly opened it. The string fell away and the bag opened to reveal a sparkling purple powder. She poked a finger in it expecting to feel the magic in it. It only felt like ash, nothing special except the clarity of it. Emma dug a small handful out and held it over August's body.

She paused. Flashes of everything she had done bombarded her, and she was forced to close her eyes. Snow was flying through the air, Henry and James were gone, she was killing a room full of men—Emma's eyes snapped open and she snatched her hand away. She was panting. A thin sheen of sweat was forming under her arms. She finally looked to Snow and James who stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking just as anxious as she felt. What if it didn't work? What if nothing happened? Worse, what if she blew something up instead?

"I'm sorry I got mad at you," she said breathlessly, but Snow and James were already shaking their heads.

"You can do this, Emma."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," they spoke at the same time.

"Maybe you should all go…" she said, nodding her head towards the door. Henry protested immediately.

"We're not going anywhere," Snow said adamantly. She nodded to the puppet lying in the bed. "Go ahead."

With a deep breath, Emma held her hand over the body again. She hesitated only a second before letting the powder fall from her hand. It felt like sand running through her fingers and sprinkled over August like glitter. Everyone held their breaths. Emma stared so hard at the dull blue wooden eyes, that she was convinced she saw something stir in them. But really, nothing happened. After a few seconds, Emma let out a frustrated sigh.

She sat down slowly at August's feet and stared. She really couldn't do it. August lay as still as ever, the fairy dust settling into his clothes like worthless dust. Worthless. All that effort, and Emma had done nothing more than waste an important tool.

"Emma," Snow said behind her.

Emma shivered. And here came the disappointment, just like every other time. It had been years since Emma had ever wanted to impress anyone. She never cared what anyone thought, or what they said about her. To her, other people were a waste of her time, and so was caring. But Storybrooke had changed so much of her, she was sure she wouldn't have even recognized herself if she went back just a year. Here, she had a son and parents and friends and more than anything she had wanted in her entire life—more than ever wanting to find her parents—she wanted to protect them. She wanted to be the savior they needed her to be. But here she had a friend, dead because of her, and she couldn't bring him back. Maybe bringing Henry back had just been a coincidence. Or maybe that was all Emma Swan was good for. She was intended to break the curse, and she had done that. She tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous, taking things to heart too much, but all she could think was that maybe her magic was just like all magic, destructive and evil.

"I can't do it," Emma whispered.

"I refuse to believe that," said James. Emma closed her eyes. There was his pride again. She wished he would stop doing that; it was like he was setting himself up for disappointment.

"What you believe doesn't matter," she said. "I can't do it. I can't save him."

"Maybe you could try again," Snow suggested quietly, but Emma shook her head.

"I can't. I can't do any of this."

"Emma—"

"I can't save him!" She wheeled around and faced her parents, hating every single tear in her eye, hating them for all their love, and hating herself for not being good enough. "What if I can't do anything? What if my magic is evil? What if I just end up hurting you!"

"That's enough!" Snow snapped. Her eyes flashed with anger and she walked around the foot of the bed and grabbed Emma by the arms. Emma jumped as Snow lifted her to her feet. She shook under the blaze in Snow's eyes.

"You are _my _daughter. I will not stand here and listen to you doubt yourself when I know all the good you can do. You are not evil. You are not bad. And you would never hurt us. Don't you _ever_ suggest that again. I will never let anyone hurt my child, especially not you."

Emma stared at the woman before her, completely stunned. She was not Snow White, not the Queen that had been walking around Storybrooke for days now. She was Mary Margaret, but not Emma's Mary Margaret, not her meek best friend. Emma stood in the firm grip of the Mary Margaret who kicked a crazy Jefferson out of a second story window, who demanded Emma get out of her presence after failing her yet again. She was the woman who had reprimanded Emma harshly for leaving and kidnapping her son. She was the first woman who had ever asked Emma "what the hell is wrong with you?" and gotten Emma to listen. She was Emma's mother, and she was terrifying.

"I'm sorry," Emma breathed. Inside, Emma's heart swelled. She could never again doubt that she was this woman's daughter. There was no one else in the world who could calm Emma the way Mary Margaret could, no one who believed in her like Snow White, and no one who made her a better person like the woman she stood in front of now. Every time this woman appeared it was like magic happened; Emma listened and things changed. She had never needed someone to tell her to "shut the hell up" more in her life. As her brain cleared and her tears dried, Emma took a deep breath, feeling all her anxiety and paranoia melt away.

"Try again," her mother said more calmly, but the demand still rested just below the surface.

Emma glanced down at the bag in her hand. There was hardly a handful of the dust left, but it would have to do, because Emma knew her mother would not settle for less. She had no choice but to do what she was told, and so, she'd have to try again.

Emma glanced once at James and Henry, who both nodded and moved closer. She poured the remaining fairy dust into her palm and tightened her hand into a ball. She closed her eyes and focused, not on the dust in her hand, but on the hand resting lightly on her back. Emma focused everything on the pressure of her mother's hand until her spine tingled. Unconsciously, Emma pressed her free hand on her stomach and imagined she was reaching through her body. Her blood hummed as she imagined touching hands with the woman beside her. In her mind, Emma's hand was small and her fingers wiggled involuntarily, until a bigger hand, soft in unimaginable ways, took hers and steadied her. She smiled at the warmth and her baby hand curled around her mother's long finger.

As the dust in her hand grew hot, Emma knew that she loved her mother. And more wonderful than that, was that her mother loved her in return. She wondered if this could be True Love too, because it felt like a magic so pure the title could hardly contain all the good in it. Emma opened her palm and her eyes and stared at the burning fairy dust. The dust glowed like moonlight and burned into her skin. Somehow knowing what to do, Emma leaned forward and blew on the powder. It cooled instantly and fluttered out of her hand. She watched it drift like snow and settle onto the wooden puppet. The sprinkles seemed to melt against the wood and disappear.

On her back, the hand tensed nervously. Emma knew, before anything happened, that it had worked. After a moment, the puppet's eyes blinked. The three around her gasped. Emma smiled and chuckled to herself. The eyes blinked several times before they snapped open. Like water over sand, the life in them spread across the face and August exhaled the breath he had been holding for days.

"Emma, you did it!" Henry screamed. He rushed to the bed and touched August's face, marveling at how the skin moved against his fingers.

Next to her, Snow placed her head on Emma's shoulder and took her hand, sighing in relief. Emma squeezed it and looked over at James who was staring at her in wonder.

"Emma," August croaked. "You saved me."

"Sorry it took me so long," she said with a sheepish grin.

"Well," he groaned, stretching his neck as his arms turned back into flesh, "you were never a timely person."

"Thanks," Emma laughed.

"August," Henry said, climbing onto the bed. "Emma broke the curse!"

August was moving his arms now, his chest rising healthily as he took deep breaths. "I know. Good job completing the mission, Henry."

Henry grinned. Emma leaned forward and wrapped him in her arms, letting the happiness of the moment fill her. She was sure it would last forever. Snow stepped forward next and placed a hand on August's forehead.

"Pinocchio," she said thickly. Emma hadn't noticed that Snow had started crying. "You're so grown up."

"Snow White," he nodded.

Emma pulled Henry off the bed as August bent his knees. He tried to sit up, with an extreme amount of grunting, but Emma pushed him back down.

"My magic's not that good," she said. "Give it some time. Take it easy."

"I have to find my father," he said. Emma squeezed his shoulder at the sad look in his eyes. She suddenly wondered how hard it must have been to look at Gepetto and not be recognized. At least neither Emma nor her parents remembered each other. August had spent weeks in Storybrooke walking passed his father everyday. He seemed to understand her thoughts and looked away. James came up behind Snow and smiled down on him.

"We'll find your father for you," he told August. "He'll come. He's been looking for you."

"Thank you," August said quietly. Snow and James nodded and then backed away, giving him space.

"We can talk later. We'll let you humanize in peace," Emma said. She placed a hand on Henry's shoulder to steer him out when August called her back.

"Really, Emma," he said softly. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for everything."

"Me too," she nodded. "I'm sorry too."

She left him with a smile and ushered her family out of the room. Henry and James hurried out, Henry bounding down the stairs talking animatedly now that August's wooden form couldn't scare him. Emma laughed and closed August's door quietly. When she turned to follow her family, she had to stop. Snow was standing just behind her, her lips turned up in a small grin and her eyes still wet from crying.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said too sadly.

"Don't be," Emma told her. She took her mother's hand and squeezed it. Emma wished she could have shown Snow the imaged she'd seen. She wondered if she had created it herself or if she had been remembering the one time her mother had held her as a baby. It wasn't so far off that she had taken her mother's hand then, was it?

"I'm really proud of you, Emma."

The words were like honey. Emma didn't want to shy away from them or avert her eyes. She locked her own with Snow's bright green eyes and smiled. "I am too," she said, and she meant it.

Snow laughed and stepped forward. It was the most natural thing in the world, the way she slid into her mother's arms. Emma closed her eyes and smiled into her best friend's shoulder wondering how she had ever lived her life hating this person. A door opened in a hall and Emma turned to tell August to lie back down, but when she disengaged herself from her mother she found that it was not August's door that had opened, but the one she had stayed in when she first got to Storybrooke.

She froze instantly and felt the world come to a complete standstill. The man in the doorframe froze too. In the one second it had taken for Emma to recognize him, she was propelled years into the past. She was young Emma Swan again, sitting in the passenger seat of her beat-up yellow bug, smiling excitedly as she watched a figure retreat into the blackness of the night.

"Emma?" someone said, but Emma couldn't answer. She couldn't even breathe.

Using magic had not taken anything from her this time. Instead, it had brought her the last person she ever wanted to see.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This one was really hard for me, like my writing was off or something. I had to write it twice and still...**

**Anyway, yes the stranger is Neal. Sorry for all you who don't like him, though if it makes you feel any better, I'm not a fan of what the writer's did with his character. I'm convinced he's Bae (we'll find out tonight) and as such thought it would have been much more interesting if he turned out to be a terrible guy. The villains on our show have turned for less. I really thought he was conning Emma all through Tallahassee and was really disappointed when they made him good. I would have even like "bad guy turned good by someone he loves." **

**Also, just like Emma and her parents had a tough reunion, I plan one for Emma and Neal. I think the show sometimes skims over the character's reactions sometimes.**

**Thanks for reading! Please review, it'll make me really happy!**


	38. Coming to Light

**Sorry it took so long for this chapter. As always, thanks for the reviews and follows. I love and really appreciate them. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Emma bolted.

Snow's happy moment was over so quickly she was left reeling, and that was the only thing she could process. One second they were hugging, and then a door opened. Emma froze. Then she bolted. Emma disappeared so quickly Snow hadn't even had a chance to move. Snow glanced once at the stranger still standing in the doorway of his room. He looked just as shocked as Snow felt.

He wasn't just a stranger, Snow thought. Emma knew him, and for some reason this man terrified her.

Snow glared at him once, then took off down the stairs and out the front door of the B&B. James was standing on the lawn, his hands up in confusion, mouth open as if he was just in the middle of saying something. Halfway down the street Emma had Henry in her grasp, moving fast.

"What happened!" James called to her.

Without a word, Snow took off after Emma. Thankfully, James asked no more questions and followed. It felt like it took them forever to reach them. She called to her daughter, but Emma showed no signs of slowly down, though it looked like Henry was trying to hold her back.

James caught them first. He ran passed and stopped in front of Emma, taking her in his arms. "Emma, stop!"

Emma jumped at the contact. Snow caught up and wrapped her arms around Henry, who was asking a million questions at once. She patted his head, hoping he'd get the hint. It was only Emma who she had eyes for.

Emma, who was a mess. She looked seconds away from crying. Her beautiful hair was tossed to the side, windswept, and her chest rose and fell so fast she must not have actually been breathing. But it was Emma's eyes that scared Snow the most. Snow had never imagined that eyes could show so many emotions at once: fear, regret, anxiety, disbelief, doubt. Emma looked like she was imploding. It was more than a deer in the headlights; Emma was a deer faced with the unimaginable.

"Emma," said James, looking at his hands which still held her arms in a tight grip, "you're shaking."

"Let's get off the street," Snow said, pulling Henry down the sidewalk.

Emma nodded and swiped her hands down her face. James put his arm around her waist and led them down the street. "To the station," he said.

They made it in record time, the whole trip Henry and Snow in front. Snow was sure she would get a crick in her neck: she looked over her shoulder almost every other second. All the blood from Emma's face had gone, even her lips growing dimmer than their normal pink. However, as she walked, restrained by James, she seemed to be trying to calm herself. By the time they made it to the station, a hot red had sprung up on her cheeks and she was running her hands through her hair.

"What happened?" James demanded, settling Emma on the edge of one of the desks.

"Emma, what's wrong?" Henry asked.

But Emma shook her head. "Nothing," she said, her voice surprisingly strong.

"Don't lie to us, Emma?" James ordered.

"You know the stranger?" Snow said. She touched a hand to Emma's shoulder, but Emma shrugged away as if burned.

"I said it was nothing," she said backing away. Her fingers fumbled against her jacket as she straightened it nervously. "I just—I thought—I…"

"You didn't just have a panic attack for nothing," James said. Snow could hear it in the tone of his voice—Prince James was going away, and protective father Charming coming out.

She turned to Henry, who looked ready with more questions. "Henry, go in the Sherriff's office."

"But—"

"Now, Henry," Snow said forcefully. For a second she thought her grandson would argue; his face grew bright, but he closed his mouth reluctantly and ducked under Snow into the office. Snow closed the heavy glass door behind him.

Emma was pacing now. James' eyes followed her with precision, as if he could catch the thing bothering his daughter trailing right behind her. Snow stepped between them and held out a hand to Emma.

"Please, Emma," she begged. "Sit down."

Emma stopped pacing long enough to lick her lips, and then she nodded and walked over to one of the desks in the bullpen. She leaned all her weight on her arms, propping herself up against it, and let out a deep breath.

"Tell us who he is," Snow said. She tried to keep her voice as calm as possible.

It seemed as if Emma had finally gotten control of herself. Snow didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing; at least if she was panicking, then she and James might get some information. But now, the harder Emma fought to get a grip on herself, the more she would shut down. Snow fleetingly remembered her posture at Graham's funeral.

"Who?" James barked. Snow glared at him, hoping he'd meet her eyes so she could silently tell him to back off, but he had his eyes glued to Emma's ducked head.

"The stranger from earlier," Snow told him.

He finally looked up, anger boiling in his eyes. "Did he do something?"

"No," said Snow immediately.

"Then what happened?"

"Nothing," Emma said finally. Snow's heart sank. She was right. When Emma looked up, it was with a mask of such complete calm that Snow wondered if ten seconds ago there had actually been something wrong. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I thought I recognized him." She shook her head. "Maybe using magic has got me feeling a little off."

"Emma," Snow sighed. How could they have regressed so much in such few minutes? "You _did_ recognize him, and for some reason, that man sent you hurtling down the stairs. Why?"

Emma shook her head. "I thought he was someone I knew—"

"Emma, we only want to help," James pleaded. He looked at Emma with his blue eyes opened wide—the same look that Snow had never learned how to refuse. To reinforce it, Snow stepped beside him and took both of Emma's hands in her own, hoping her look of earnest would pull something out of their daughter. Emma sighed and turned her face away. Snow squeezed. It seemed to work. Emma finally turned back, but whatever their daughter was going to say got lost as someone else walked into the station.

"Emma?"

All three of them turned to the intruder. Of course, it was the stranger. Emma pulled her hands out of Snow's and turned to him. Snow felt James step forward.

"Neal," Emma deadpanned. She held her jaw clenched, but stepped around the desk, closer to the man named Neal. Snow could almost see the wall Emma was constructing—the defenses she had fought months to get through.

The stranger's face lit up at Emma's voice. He put his hands up and laughed incredulously. It was strange how calm and carefree he looked, as if he could not feel the tension emanating off the others in the room. Snow's eyes flickered to Henry in the office, who had looked up from whatever he was doing and was moving to the door.

"You haven't changed at all." He grinned.

"What are you doing here, Neal?" Emma asked slowly. The smile slowly faded from Neal's face and he dropped his eyes. He tucked his hands into his pockets. Neal took a couple steps closer, seeming to collect himself. When he looked up, he looked directly into Emma's eyes.

"I came to see you," he said.

Snow and James reacted too slowly. Emma threw a right hook right into Neal's face, sending him stumbling backward, and was winding up for a second by the time James pounced on her. Snow stepped between the two—Emma who was being pulled back by James, and Neal, who was holding his nose behind his hands.

"Shit, Emma!"

"What's going on?" said Henry, running out of the office.

"Emma, calm down," James said forcefully. She had already pulled out of her father's grasp and was standing behind his outstretched hands, staring murderously at Neal. Snow turned to him to find him sniffing and patting his nose with the back of his hand. Snow didn't know how there wasn't any blood: Emma had landed a great punch. She tried to keep her prideful smile tucked away, though Snow was sure Neal probably glimpsed a small smirk when he glanced at her.

"You should go," Snow ordered, but Neal didn't move. She glanced again at Emma, suddenly remembering that her daughter had magic-magic that was controlled by her emotions.

"Who are you?" asked Henry.

"What do you want?" Emma growled at Neal. Snow stepped to the side, partly to hold Henry back, and partly to get herself out of the line of fire. Emma looked ready to launch herself across the room. Her eyes were as black as they'd been the night she and Emma had argued in the forest. If possible, Emma seemed to be collecting more hate by the second, as she glowered at her acquaintance.

Neal shrugged, his happy-go-lucky smile gone. He scoffed and threw up his hands in defeat.

"I told you," he said, "I came to see you."

"It's a little late for visits, don't you think?" Emma snapped.

"Well, I couldn't come earlier," Neal argued. Snow flinched at the heat in his voice. Any moment, whatever _this_ was, would explode. She searched for some way to end it quickly. "I couldn't come until the curse—"

"The curse?" Emma breathed. Snow's ears sharpened as the whole dynamic shifted. She peeked at James. His eyebrows were furrowed, clearly as confused as they all were. Even Emma's face had changed, though Snow didn't think it was for the better. This face was even more dangerous—all emotion wiped away, except for Emma's eyes. Her chest started to heave.

"Why don't we—" Snow tried to used the moment to her advantage, but Emma was already creeping forward.

"You know about the curse?" she whispered.

Neal swallowed. "Yeah."

"Are you from the Enchanted Forest too?" Henry asked from behind Snow. Snow pushed a hand against his chest.

Neal glanced curiously at Henry then back up to Emma. Emma's mouth opened, as if she had finally made a connection.

"Are you?" Snow strained to hear her daughter's voice. The silence seemed to come alive in the moments before Neal spoke. But Snow already knew the answer. Neal looked guilty, but more than that, he looked caught. His eyes dropped away in the same way that Emma's did when she was forced to talk about something uncomfortable.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I am."

Emma lifted a shaky finger and pointed it at him. "You knew." Her voice cracked. "You were a part of it. You were a part of everything."

In every word Snow heard a part of Emma's heart crumble. Her voice was so low, each accusation a struggle for her to get out. Snow caught James' eyes. They needed to get things under control. He nodded imperceptibly and inched closer to Emma.

"_And you used me,_" Emma cried.

Neal lunged forward. "Emma, listen—"

"No!" Emma screamed, throwing both hands out. Neal jerked as if caught by a hit to the stomach and flew through the air, smacking the opposite wall with such force, tumb-tacked papers fluttered around his head, the board falling beside him. James wrapped his arms around Emma's waist, dragging her back again.

"You!" he yelled at Neal. "Leave now!"

Snow watched as James pulled a heartbroken Emma away, into a room. Henry circled around her and ran after them. Neal stood, shaking his head in disbelief and moved to follow, but Snow slapped a hand to his chest and stared him in the eye. His brown eyes widened under her stern gaze. As of yet, Snow still had no confirmation of who this person was to her daughter, yet she had an inkling. And after everything Mary Margaret had heard, she was incredibly weary and seriously wishing she had her bow with her.

"I don't know who you are," she said lowly, "or what you've done, but you better stay very far away."

Neal's face grew tight as he listened to her threat. She imagined he didn't know how to take her: this small woman threatening him. Her eyes dared him to try something.

"I suggest you leave before my husband comes out here to kill you," she said. And she stood her ground until Neal nodded awkwardly and backed away.

"I just want to talk to her," he said. Then he was gone.

Snow sighed and headed to the supply closet James had taken Emma into. Emma was leaning weakly against a filing cabinet with Henry pressed against her chest. He had his arms wrapped around his mother and was looking up into her face. She held his nose pinched between her fingers, an obvious headache forming. James looked up at Snow's entrance and stiffened.

"Is he gone?"

"Yes," Snow answered. She moved closer to Emma. "Emma?"

"Is there any part of my life that wasn't touched by this fucking curse?" she said looking up and staring at the opposite wall. She looked at it earnestly, as if the answer would come popping out, or paint itself there for her to see.

"We'll get through this," James told her softly, but Emma was shaking her head.

"I don't want to get through this," she said. Then, hardly loud enough for anyone but Henry to hear, "I just want to go home."

Snow moved forward, moving her face until Emma was looking at her. "Then, let's go home."

"We have to tell Gepetto about August," Emma said, rubbing Henry's back.

"We can do that tomorrow," said James.

"No. Now. I want this over with."

Snow nodded. They would hurry over to Gepetto, apologize as she had wanted, and then she'd take her daughter home. She promised.

* * *

Snow watched James' chest in the darkness. She had been awake for hours, alternating between watching her husband sleep and staring at the ceiling, wishing she could be upstairs with Emma. They had spent much more time out than she had originally promised Emma. They found Gepetto in Granny's and apologized. Snow still flinched when she thought about how she'd attacked him. It was shameful, her behavior, but the moment they told him about Pinocchio, all of that seemed forgotten. He sped out of the diner, Dr. Hopper right behind him. Then, they'd decided to get lunch that they could bring home, but of course, Granny's was the center of town. They ended up having to stay as Snow talked with Red. James was bombarded by Prince Eric and Phillip, and Emma ended up in a serious conversation with Grumpy, Doc, and Happy about unicorns (though Snow didn't understand why). Then they'd taken a trip to the mines to see how the dwarves were making progress. Emma seemed oddly fine the entire time, happy to make a trip or help someone else out.

Snow worried. She was sure Emma was only being this productive because facing herself would be too hard. But Snow didn't want Emma to do that anymore. She wanted her daughter to come to her or ask her for a hug. She wanted Emma to let James hug her and cry into his shoulder. She wanted to help Emma feel, no matter how terrible, so that they could avoid her feeling worse later. But by the time they got home, it was dark. Emma and Henry trotted up the stairs and had not come back down. James had taken forever to fall asleep and even now his rest was fitful, but at least he could close his eyes. Finally Snow could stand lying there anymore. She crept out of the room slowly and made her way into the kitchen.

Out of the corner of her eye something caught her attention. Snow crouched a little and walked around the kitchen island. There was something wrong with the table. As she got closer, she let out a sigh. Snow lowered herself to her knees and crawled over to the chairs.

"Emma," she said quietly.

Emma turned to her. She was lying under the table, her back on the floor and her baby blanket draped over her chest. The moonlight from the window streamed onto her hair and face making her look silver. Snow thought of a mermaid. Emma was beautiful, her eyes clear and her face relaxed.

"What are you doing?" Snow wondered how Emma had slunk in between all the chairs without making a sound.

"Just thinking," Emma said. Snow smiled sadly.

"Mind if I join you?"

Emma shook her head. Trying to be careful, Snow slid herself under the legs of the chairs closest to the island. She knocked her head once and laughed when Emma smiled. Finally she was right beside her, daughter who stared at the underside of the table. She counted it as a victory that she had not been shooed away.

"So," started Snow. "Why under the table? It's not a very good hiding spot."

"No, it's not," Emma laughed softly. "Habit, I guess. I used to be small enough to crawl under them all the time."

"I guess you still are."

"Sometimes," said Emma. "It was never about hiding. It's just a good place to think. You get a whole new perspective."

Snow gazed in wonder at her daughter. She supposed it was a beautiful spot, especially at night. There were details that couldn't be seen from any other position, like the way the living room rug curved at the edges, as if striving to roll itself back up again. And there were swirls of wood grain under the table, like the fingerprints of a hand. In a way, Snow felt small down here, but it was a nice feeling. It was comfortable.

"What are we thinking about?" Snow asked quietly.

"I think you know," Emma said.

Snow waited a moment before asking, "Are you going to tell me who he is?"

"I think you know that too."

Snow nodded. It was as good as an answer. She didn't want to push, but she reached her hand over and laid it on what felt like Emma's stomach.

"I wish the world would stop for just a minute," Emma whispered.

"Me too."

Emma turned to her, her eyes blue like her father's in the moonlight. "If it did, what moment would you choose? Which moment would you freeze?"

Snow hardly had to think about that one. She would want something happy, and she had many moments of pure happiness, but there was only one that she wished could have lasted longer: The breaking of the curse, and holding Emma in her arms again, as her mother. Emma looked at her in surprise, and Snow smiled. She wondered if Emma was thinking it would have been a moment with James, or her daughter's birth, but that moment had been too bittersweet. It was happy for her, but no matter what, once the world started moving again, Snow would have had to make the decision to send her daughter away, and she couldn't go through that again. After the curse had broken, and she had seen her beautiful Emma for the first time, that's when she had known that nothing could stop them. She had all of her friends around her, safe and healthy, but in her arms, she held her entire family. She had even gained someone. That moment had been so stunning, Snow teared up talking about it. Emma nodded though and placed her hand on Snow's.

"That was a scary moment," Emma said.

"Yeah, it was," Snow agreed. "But still the best."

Emma turned and thought for a moment. "I'd choose that too. Well, not that exact moment. I'd choose the moment I opened my door and saw this brown-haired boy grinning up at me, telling me he was my kid."

Snow's smile widened.

"Even though it led to all this shit," Emma laughed. "I was so scared. But underneath all that, I saw this beautiful little boy, and he was smiling at _me_. He was so excited." Emma turned her head back to the underside of the table as she talked. Snow didn't think she had ever seen her so relaxed. "I had made a wish right before that, you know? I had wished that I wouldn't have to be alone on my birthday. He was my first birthday wish come true."

Snow blinked the tears from her eyes. They had both lost something with their children, but in the end, they had gotten their children back. Their family would always find each other, as Charming would say. Speaking of him, Snow peered through the legs of the chair to see his feet padding toward them. He circled the table and crouched down on the side by the door.

"Hi," he said, sleep still in his eyes.

"Hi," Emma laughed.

Charming groaned like an old man and squeezed himself between the legs of the chairs. Emma and Snow waited for him to get comfortable, all the while grinning at his confusion. After knocking his ankle painfully, he finally settled.

"You know, this was supposed to be quiet time for me," said Emma.

"Ah," Charming said, "if only. What are we doing down here?"

"We're thinking," Snow said.

"I heard a lot of chatter for thinking."

They fell into an easy silence. James moved a lot, obviously uncomfortable on the floor, but Snow thought she heard something from upstairs. She wondered briefly if Henry was still having nightmares. Snow tried not to glance over at Emma too often, but her eyes trailed down her face. She watched Emma's face grow more and more serious. Eventually, she spoke again.

"I guess you want to know about today."

"Only if you want to tell us," Snow said quickly.

"No, I want to know," said James, but he said it jokingly. Emma chuckled a little.

"It's not like you haven't figured out who he is. I'm sure Snow told you."

James smiled apologetically. "He's Henry's father."

Emma crossed her arms under her blanket. "Yeah. He's Henry's father."

"What?" said a small voice.

The three of them under the table immediately chilled. Emma's eyes widened in shock.

"Henry?" Emma called. He must have been on the stairs; Snow couldn't see his feet.

"You said my father died!" Henry cried. "You told me he was a hero."

"Henry-"

"You lied!"

His feet slapped the metal stairs as he sprinted back to the room. Emma called out for him again and bolted from the floor. She looked once at Snow, whose heart broke for the panic that had once again taken over her daughter's graceful face.

"He's going to hate me," Emma whispered.

"Just talk to him," Snow told her.

It was much harder to get out of the chairs with Snow and James tangled in them, but Emma pushed her way out, and soon her feet hitting the stairs mingled with the chairs scratching against the floor as they fought their way out. Snow slipped out pretty easily, but Charming had a harder time. Snow went over and lifted the chairs off of him. He stood up and gave her a pained look. She understood. Even in a moment of peace, there was always something that disrupted their family. Snow placed her hands on his chest and tiptoed to kiss him when Emma came running down the stairs, this time in boots thrown over her sweats. Snow glanced over her shoulder and knew she would not be getting sleep tonight.

"He's gone," said Emma.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed reading it. Please review. :D**


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